


Grotesque

by killugonwriter



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canary FinALLY gets attention, Coffeehouse AU!, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Eventual nen powers, Everyone's A Mythical Creature, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gon is a werewolf!, KON IS A CAT ITS IMPORTANT, Killugon - Freeform, Kitsune Killua, M/M, Magic, Magic School, Melody is her lovebug self, Mito is a literal angel, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Reaper Kite, Romance, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Vampire Kurapika, Wizard Leorio, Yaoi, alluka's the best little sister, leopika - Freeform, mild starvation themes, super gay killua
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 19:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killugonwriter/pseuds/killugonwriter
Summary: It only takes so much to break through. And the virus did just that. It broke through.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, everyone! So sorry for my long hiatus, I’ve been trying to compete with Togashi apparently. I’ve been in a huge slump with my writing for months. I had originally posted this story, but I got so frustrated with the current state of it that I took it down to rework it. So, now, I am reposting the edited chapters. A new one is also in the works. Likes and reviews are highly appreciated.
> 
> -Killugonwriter

No one could’ve guessed meteors could be a vessel for infection. The meteor shower that occurred on November 22nd, 2051 was made out to be a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle by the media. After all, it was the first worldwide meteor shower to be recorded in history. Everyone knew the meteors would be small (no bigger than a clenched fist) and their impacts would be sparsely spread over the planet, so people did not need to evacuate. Instead, they huddled indoors for safety and peered out their differently shaped windows to see them. When that November night fell and the meteors rained down, the whole world looked upon them with glittered eyes, a deadened hope suddenly made anew. There was a peculiar beauty about space rocks enveloped in blue flames. Possibly, it was a sign from the cosmos that unfamiliar things could be welcoming, in a way. But they didn't realize how wrong that idea was. That meteor shower defined itself: and all the lifetimes that came after.  
Kite stands on the balcony, the midnight breeze wafting his hair. The stark white of his tresses can almost be mistaken as the embodiment of the moon. He is a harbinger of dying stars, a reaper, an omen of despair. Though he is seen as a symbol of death, re-reading his first journal entry scares him. It’s not just the words: it’s the way the ink had bled onto the yellowing pages. The passage of time is haunting. Looking away for a moment to breathe, he sees the stars blink in the inky night. He feels a twinge of familiarity, the one he can never quite understand. Somehow, looking at the little specks far out in the universe reminds him he’s part of the void of space. It’s like he’s homesick.  
When the meteors had fallen to the earth, a cloud of undetectable, unearthly dust spread over all of humanity like the first snowfall in winter. It was a deadly aroma from the galaxies. Starry-eyed and blinded, no one felt it seep into their air and meld with who they were. For a while, no one knew it. That is until the next generation came to life. Their births were tainted.  
Headlines seemed to scream off newspapers. A kind of bold all-caps no one could quite forget. Infants murdering their parents. A baby thats eyes had become completely blackened. Loved ones torn to shreds by the claws of their child. A mother found sucked dry of all blood. The cases didn't stop, but time did seem to. No one had known where this epidemic sprouted from, one that turned children into animalistic monsters.  
Tests run by geneticists showed the quarantined infants were normal. Although, the idea was disapproved when they uncoiled parts of their DNA that horrified them beyond belief. All the samples contained a stream of coding computers could not put letters to. After a certain point, every existing software to-date crashed. The only explanation geneticists could come to was that the virus was a retrovirus. By breaching and taking control of DNA host cells, the virus could become a new addition of the host cell genome. But surely, that couldn't be right, because if was in the DNA, then it would mean these infants got this virus from their parents. And, they found out, that was exactly how it was.  
The virus only awoke what was already inside them. Something that lied dormant within all of humanity, thirsting for its time. It only took so much to break through. And the virus did just that. It broke through.  
By comparing the parents' DNA to their offspring, the world was kicked lopsided as they realized these monsters were coming from no one but themselves. Their own monsters were merely sleeping.  
On the gridded paper he jots on above his journal, Kite pencils in the constellations, his steady hand marking the stars in the sectors they have aligned in tonight. Divulged deeply into his work, he labels the locations as he sees them. The moonlight glows above and he can't help but feel fascinated by the stretch above him. Using a ruler, he connects the lines between stars, revealing the Big Dipper.  
His grid now peppered with graphite stars, Kite dreams of what is beyond his sight. Who he really is, why everyone around him is how they are: if there is something out there, that maybe, just maybe could explain all of this.  
Kite folds the paper once, twice, three times and slips it between the pages. In the morning, with a cup of tea, he will sit down again and find out what tonight's message meant. After giving one last longing look above, he slips back inside his apartment to continue reading his journal.  
After further analysis, geologists were baffled when the compounds contained in the altered coding were also found in the meteors that had fallen from space that November. Had it traveled by air through dust? Had it been contained in all the rocks, and therefore spread over an entire planet? If so, that means anyone could have been infected. Anyone could've been holding the key to the virus. They were all carriers.  
Never had the government thought they would have to rip infants from the arms of their mothers. Of course, they were met with roaring backlash, but this was the only solution. It escalated too quickly, actions fueled by panic. The government came to a horrible consensus. If households didn't hand them over, guns were pointed to heads. Nothing could be left unaccounted for. Within less than twenty-four hours of the discovery, lives were overturned. The way things were would be no more.  
Kite's nimble, willowy fingers dance through his hair as he braids it down his back, eyes scanning the pages of his writing. The light of the moon from his windowpane gives him an unearthly glow, his braid as pale as paper. He sits upon his quilt, thinking back like he has been lately— to that terror, how the roads were empty because no one could leave their homes under the worldwide house arrest, and it was deafeningly quiet like no one had the will to keep breathing anymore. He looks out the window as his thoughts carry him. Looking at the night sky before bed helps him feel like he has a place, that he and all this pain wasn't made for naught. He closes the journal, but his thoughts rattle on.  
The quarantined children fell asleep to the distant buzzing of an electric fence rather than lullabies. Kite, who was one of those children, can still hear the faraway sound in his ears, and he shivers, albeit it is merely a remembrance of the past. The sound made it feel like a mosquito was bunking near his eardrum. After the detainment of thousands of babies, there had to be someone to care of them. As a result, a new job was put on the market.  
Formulas were fed by workers clad in the metal used on space shuttles— for if the infants went berserk, God willing the metal could stop them. The workers, or “aides,” as they were named, were well-paid to attract employees. However, most only remember signing their name under a contract that read 'I understand I may be injured beyond rehabilitation or may die in the work's premises.'  
But the scary thing was the babies were still human. They still laughed, cried, needed to be burped, and have their diapers changed. Despite their inhuman abilities, it was simple to look into their eyes and see the blatant humanity. So, what makes them any different than the humans of the previous generation? In all humans is there a monster waiting to escape? On the outside, Kite feels innately human. But inside, there is something there clawing beneath the surface, grappling to break out.  
Whilst the infants grew, scientists observed behind plexiglass, scratching down as many observations as they could on clipboards. Kite hated when they took notes on him, being scrutinized like a monster every waking moment was paralyzing to his psyche. Even today, he still sometimes feels like a thousand eyeballs are slithering over his back. Through many study sessions, they first noticed Kite had no need or desire to eat or sleep. However, they still watched him do everything else. The aides watched him use his teething ring, learn to speak, read, and eventually play with more advanced games as he got older. It infuriated Kite when they turned the clipboard to write in the margins and underline stuff: they were analyzing him— to them, he was a freakish abnormality. When he turned ten, Kite was assigned a specialized aide. He can still imagine the refracted light on the glasses of the aide's nose, and the mole under his left nostril. Despite seeing each other through reinforced plexiglass every day, they never spoke once. Kite didn't even know his name.  
All he knew about him was that he was left-handed, quirked his eyebrow when writing, and appeared to have nuts and bolts in his head instead of a brain. Kite was up at all hours of every day with him, keeping himself busy with the toys the government had deemed reasonable at the time. A few puzzles, most old and used, the pieces frayed and no longer vibrant.  
The aides found through countless days of observation and research over thousands of subjects that the childrens' personalities aligned with their abilities. The virus simply conformed to the host's personality and made their monstrous powers a trait. That could mean the virus doesn't work at random. Rather, it improves upon what the children were born with. It was a sickening thought that took time to settle into onlookers' minds.  
Kite remembers one puzzle he had during his time being quarantined made a picture of the constellations. Conceivably, it is what spurred on his love of space. Regardless of him never been outside to see the sun, never-mind the stars and the moon, he desired to see them for real. Kite can still envision the feel the softwood puzzle pieces in his hands. He had done it so many times he had memorized the shape of the pieces and exactly where they went. Looking back, Kite realizes how unnerved the doctors were at his frightening intelligence. Once, a whole team of aides had gathered like a flock of vultures does to roadkill, including the man with the glasses. They took extensive notes while he did the puzzle.  
He simply took the pieces and arranged them in the respective places, and then snapped them together. Kite didn't make a single placement that didn't have a purpose. Perhaps he wasn't just a lab rat: instead, it’s feasible Kite was something to be admired— he was intelligent, a genius ready to take flight.  
A sudden frown overtakes Kite, and he flips over in his bed. In retrospect, that was the only day he had felt that way— worthy. Baffled by his ability to do higher-level thinking despite no food or sleep, the aides were requested to run some tests.  
He can almost feel all the spots he was pricked with needles feel tender, and he rubs his arms as he feels invisible bugs scatter across them.  
The first time they drew blood, they were shocked to find there was no oxygen present in it. No one had noticed his chest had been eerily still. Kite had no need to breathe, either.  
When the aide returned with the lab results, He looked at Kite as if he wasn't alive anymore, like he was dead, a carcass that was merely moving.  
A memory of sterile white light reflecting off the number twelve on a clock face flashes behind Kite's eyelids as he dwindles in that time. A strained headache begins to form at the back of his temples. He remembers that feeling like no other. When the small hand of the clock had hit that damn number, it had felt like his body was set aflame. Kite remembers wondering if he was going to die. Every muscle and piece of meat on him felt like it was being cooked.  
How did you treat someone who doesn't even breathe the same air, exactly? He had never experienced feeling terminally ill before— he had never even been the regular kind of sick, so the aides had no idea what to do. They did all he could, despite him being a monster, and Kite doesn’t take that moment for granted. Maybe the aides felt he was still human after all. When his temperature was attempted to be taken, the glass thermometer got so hot it malfunctioned, then shattered. Antibiotics were futile. Eventually, all the chattery metal-clad nurse aides dispersed. If he was untreatable, it was likely there was something in him that would cause a self-remedial to transpire. Briefly, Kite wallowed in the eerie feeling of being alone, burning, burning until he was sure he'd shrivel like a leaf. Quickly, he found he wouldn’t mind dying, as it hurt so much.  
Kite didn't see when it appeared, rather, he sensed it. All the heat from the bonfire inside of him had been stolen in a single moment, and it was an unnerving feeling— like being dunked into icy water. His usual coldness situated back into his skin, the heat gone, leaving him puzzled. When he had craned his neck, he had seen the blade of it. The only answers he could come to was that he, himself, had made it; all he knew for sure was the handle was meant to be held by him. That was enough to make him rise. His bare feet had hit the tiled floor, he ripped the IV needle and wires out from his body, a loud beeping sounded but he didn't register it. Once he was across the room, and the blade was held between his palms, he realized this...weapon was merely himself. It was as though it was simply an extension of who he was, an extension of his limbs. There was an undeniable hum to it that he felt in his bones.  
He stood there, bare-legged in a hospital gown, holding this scythe, his white hair splayed over his ashen face. He had never felt more powerful. When he had gotten up, he vaguely remembered an alarm was triggered, and before he knew it, he was flanked at all sides by aides. Kite's bony, bloodless fingers tightened around the handle, and when an aide reached outwards to his scythe to confiscate it, their fingers brushed it and they crumpled.  
Kite still hasn't forgotten that sound, his first encounter with death. It was like the sigh of awe someone makes when they encounter something beautiful.  
The aides scattered like sewer rats. An alarm blared across the entire facility. Never had Kite felt something so intensely. He had killed someone, and he didn't know how. Was it this scythe? He remembers he had looked upon it and it was if he knew— no one else could touch it but him. For Kite, as the aides later noted, was what they called a “reaper.” He had only known it from hearing them mutter the word hushedly to one another.  
A sad smile comes to Kite as he remembers the day after the discovery. Kite’s eyes shut. Why he is nostalgic over lying in a bed and trying to sleep, granted he never will? This is what the virus had told him to be. At the old, spoiled-milk age of one-hundred and two, Kite doesn't feel a day older than twenty. He will not die unless killed, and who would kill the bringer of death himself? He glances at the large scythe leaned against his far wall, and stares at his ghost-like reflection in the wingspan-long blade. This scythe was the one thing that told Kite who he was. Even if he was meant to lead death, he was spared from solving his identity.  
After the incident, Kite had willingly gone back into his small sector. There he had heard some things that turned his entire sense of what he lived into chaos.  
After many years of analyzing research and experimenting, scientists had developed a cure to the virus with enhanced antibiotics. But there was a great divide between the altered and the normal. Using the antibiotic on the altered that contain the virus, even in its non-dormant state, would cause instant death. Even though the altered were viewed as monsters, the unaffected could still recognize they were human, too. However, not human enough to integrate into regular society.  
Kite had overheard from the aides that the government had instructed a place— like a replica of the society regular humans live in— to be built. Not an endless facility with white rooms where ones like Kite would never find a sense of morality. Apparently, the humans outside of the facility had erupted into outrage at the idea of the genetically altered being held in prison-like place. The idea still bewilders Kite. Do they still care about the ones like him?  
It took a year to build, even with a team of a million hired workers constructing it. Although, at the time, Kite hadn't known the place that the aides were constructing wasn't real— at least, fathomably.  
In the meantime, Kite had been reading some of the books approved for ones like him. He studied how normal societies functioned, how things worked. And after, he was more excited than ever before to get out of the facility and take his first glance at the night sky like he always dreamed.  
The opening day came. Kite remembered it was the first time he was happy to be alive. His spirits weren’t dampened even when the aides came in and blindfolded him and weighed him down with chains. He had never felt so incredibly blissful.  
The altered were packed into the back of reinforced trucks, where they chained them to the side of the truck walls. They tethered him there tight. The gravity pulling against his raised arms made the tendons in his neck strain when he looked up. The ride was uncomfortable, as the shackles had rubbed against him because of the vibrations and made welts on his wrists and ankles. But, when the ride was over, Kite had never felt something so foreign. Something so unknown and nerve-wracking, yet thrilling roiling in his chest. Some little inkling told him things were more like how they ought to be.  
When Kite was unloaded from the truck, the blindfold had stayed on. Kite had wondered if there was something he wasn't supposed to see. Someone had clamped him by the arm, unyielding, cutting off his blood circulation. They lead him through a door, judging by the sound of swinging, creaking metal. A lock clicked back into place. His feet had, begrudgingly, under his shackles— risen onto what he could only guess was a platform of some sort. He had heard some whispers of people around him, aides, assumedly, and then there was this energy moving through his body, like electricity, but without its painful bite. And Kite remembers after that short time period, he was, unexplainably, outside. He must’ve been, as this is how he conceived it felt like to be outside.  
Even to this day, Kite still remembers his first smell of fresh air— his first breath not laden with something sterile. When the blindfold had come off, he had never seen so many colors. An emerald, rolling green from an open pasture, the azure blueness of a cloudless sky. His wrists and ankles no longer were chained together, free to move about. And that was the first time that Kite, a reaper, a harbinger of death, had found out he had the ability to cry. The tears sliding down his face were ethereal. He barely noticed the aide next to him, observing quietly. From the corner of his eyes, Kite caught the glint swooping over those telltale glasses. It was his specialized aide. He opened his mouth to speak to him for the first time— but all that tumbled out were truths that Kite didn’t want to believe.  
The place he’d been brought to that day hadn’t been real. He hadn’t stood in the real world, where regular society dwelled. The aide’s expression was stoic as he told Kite all about how he was not standing in the real world but in a computer-generated server. The aide gave off an impression like he had rehearsed the explanation hundreds of times. How was it that the information had been present in every corner of his life, but Kite was left in the dark? He explained that the blue sky Kite was gazing upon was merely billions of pixels generated by supercomputers. Kite will never forget the moment when the realization befuddled his brain: the way it had left him feeling foolish is still not an easily forgotten feeling.  
He wasn’t free, he was now just part of a server that the aides had developed to transfer and monitor the altered. Those like Kite were still lab rats, not quite free from observation and round-the-clock surveillance.  
It was all fake.  
When Kite had heard about the place being built for the altered; he had never thought that meant he was going to be transferred into simple data. It was merely all an intended misunderstanding, a simple way to get the altered here, unable to turn back. The steps the aides had taken to appease the usurp the humans were causing… it was clever yet cold.  
The altered may have upgraded from the sterile, blindingly white facility, but Kite began to wonder if this was any more humane.  
From the thinness of digital air his scythe appeared, and fell to the grass, the blade glinting the same way it did in the real world. As Kite picked up his weapon, he felt that familiar hum through him. He didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed that this digitized scythe, simply reconstructed pixels of his original, bore no difference from the real one.  
Kite stared down at the blade. Something within Kite finally came undone, a frayed string that finally snapped. Kite found the desire to turn on the aide, to fight against this injustice. He was a reaper, and hell, he could kill anyone if he needed to.  
The aide had eyed the way Kite held the blade with purpose as if it were something more than a weapon. The sun shifted in the mid-afternoon sky, bathing Kite in brilliant sunlight, making him look like a ghost over its burial grounds. And when the blade made red blossom in the aide’s torso, and the man fell, Kite had escorted him to his death.  
In the distance, Kite heard a werewolf howl at the lone moon, melancholy yet hopeful. After that sound died, he heard nothing, but maybe that’s because he’s so numb. He may be contaminated by this omen, but inside, he is no different from the untouched.  
He didn't move, it felt monumentally too difficult. He took in three breathes of digitized air, and he was sickened by the fact that he found it so sweet. Shouldn’t he have completely rejected this? From beyond the grassy hill, he saw the sun-haze silhouette of what appeared to be a city. Before he stopped to think, his feet began to move in front of one another. He stepped on a dandelion, and it smashed into the dirt.


	2. Chapter 2

“...All those affected by the alteration will live in an unprecedented peace....”  
―The Aide Manifesto, page 2  
________________________________________  
September 30th, 2108  
The rain raps on the windowpanes of the coffeehouse. To Mito, it’s a welcome presence. Afternoon rainstorms always bring a certain stillness to the air: one that she has learned to cherish. When the pitter-patter lulls in the background, she finds that her tired mind becomes eased. That’s why she loves to read at times like these, for the rainfall’s tempo helps her eyes to glide over words. The fire she lit an hour before flickers in the hearth, sending tumbling, warm reading light. She tips the teacup to her lips and hums at the delicate taste. Yes… this might be her favorite thing in the whole world— aside from the scent of brewing coffee. Mito smooths out a crinkle on one of the pages, but it refuses and pops back up the way it was.  
Over the downpour outside, it is beyond Mito how she hears the minute knocking on the front door. Who would be here at this ungodly hour, during a rainstorm nevertheless? Hurriedly, she finishes the sentence she was on. There are a fast few raps again. Setting her chamomile tea down on its saucer; her feathery angel wings ruffle in disdain as slides a bookmark into her novel.  
Her feet feel like there is nothing under them. It’s strange, Mito thinks to herself, but this all feels bittersweet like I’ve been here countless times before.  
Her slipper-clad feet near the front door, and after undoing the lock, Mito peers into the dark at the figure that looms there. Their shoulders are drawn into themselves, they must be cold. A beam of fiery light from the warm insides of the coffeehouse illuminates a scruffy face and the muted brown in one eye. In disbelief, Mito pushes the door further ajar.  
“Ging?”  
He looks more worn than the last time she saw him. Although, the rain-drawn lines in his face somehow make him look even more casual than ever before; like he didn’t just disappear all those years ago. What was he doing in all that time? The cloud water plasters his dark hair to his stubbly face, and his drenched hat is weary and flopped over under his werewolf ears.  
“Yo, little cousin,” he says, smirking humorlessly. There is a certain underlying tone to it, one that makes a contagious sadness creep up on her. Sternly, Mito wraps her sweater more tightly around her shoulders. She holds back all the biting words she could be spitting at him— God, how she could reduce him to dirt right now, just like he made her feel back then. Her eyes fog up at Ging, who through the reflected light, she can see awkwardly stare back at her. Internally, she doesn’t know if the outpouring of her emotion is from relief or anger. Mito can’t deny that she missed him... all of him, his love for adventure, even his stubbornness when they used to fight over frivolous things as kids.  
“Where were you?” For a moment, she doesn’t realize she asks it. It’s just above a whisper, though, so Ging (very typically, she could say) acts like he didn’t hear it. Assumedly, that just means he has no intention of explaining himself. He turns his gaze away, an attempt to hide…guilt, maybe?  
His return, so out of the blue, seems misplaced somehow. But it all clicks why he is here when for the first time, Mito notices the bundle in his arms. A child... his, she can tell, just by looking. He had gotten his dad’s eyes— there’s that adventurous twinkle that will probably never be stifled. Her heart drops to her toes, splashing in a puddle of dismay.  
“Ging…”  
The tremble in his lip must be her eyes playing tricks on her. Then again, Ging altogether could be a mirage created by the rain.  
But that can’t be.  
The rain swallows up his shame, feeding by drenching itself on him. “I can’t care for him, Mito,” he says, his face grave and downcast. “I’m no good.” The small boy trembles in his arms, as if he can feel Ging’s self-loathing, his misery. And for the first time, Mito sees defeatism leech from Ging— all because of one kid. She feels sick like the emotion is pushing outwards in all directions.  
She can barely muster up her voice. “Don’t say that…”  
He pauses a moment, the raindrops slipping down his face like makeshift tears. Ging protests quietly: “But, Mito.” The way he says it is haunting to her, in a way. “You and I both know Gon deserves better.”  
A puff of mist from the rain feels chilling on her face. In all honesty, Mito can’t bring herself to disagree with him. It isn’t because Ging is a terrible guy, no, he’s quite the opposite of that. But a child.... would do nothing but tie him down, in a way that Ging probably couldn’t foresee. He can barely take care of himself and can do no more than that. The rain picks up. It’s just the three of them there, the two adults wondering if this was fate— meant to be somehow; like Ging was always meant to break Mito’s heart twice. It may have happened in different ways, but a broken heart is always the same.  
However, with a child involved...  
“Please…” A plea, so desperate that Mito’s face twists into a sob. “A favor…”  
She already knows what he will ask, and the irony of it all bubbles up. All those years ago, Mito relied on Ging in her constant moments of weakness. And now… maybe this is the world’s twisted way of making her pay off her debt.  
“Please take care of him… because I can’t.”  
And Mito will never understand how she finds the strength to take Gon into her arms. He’s heavier than she expects.  
Ging hurriedly turns, his boots squelching as he walks away. There as rigidness in him that has never been there, a pain that seems to weigh not lighter, but heavier on him. Mito can recollect Ging has only looked like that in rare occasions of defeat. Cradling the boy against her chest, his claws dig into Mito’s shirt, latching himself there. It’s as if he’s scared that she too will abandon him. Gon’s oblivious, big eyes peer up at her, the only thing he understands is that Ging is leaving him. A pang stabs underneath her ribs and suddenly anger swells, as torrential as the storm.  
“If you return and try to take him back,” her voice cracks as her white wings encircle the shivering Gon, “I will bring your ass to court.”  
Abruptly, he stops to turn under the illumination of a streetlight. Ging doesn’t visibly react, but he should know damn well that she is serious. A second later, he smiles at her, a melancholy, good-bye smile that sends frustrated tears sprawling down Mito’s cheeks.  
Angrily, she shuts the door behind her, shutting out the rain and the image of a saddened Ging on her doorstep. She is only brought back to reality by the shivering of Gon in her arms, his trademark werewolf ears flat against his head.  
A clawed hand paws at a feather on her wing. “Mee...toe?”  
And all she can see in him is Ging’s light, the one she will see bloom all over again. At that moment, she finds herself unsure whether Gon is a blessing or a curse.  
“Let’s get you cleaned up...Gon.”  
She ascends the stairs, holding him close to her slow, heavy heart. His claws have ripped clean through her blouse, as he tries to get impossibly closer. When she looks down, she notices his lips are blue. Mito heads for the bathroom and puts the stopper in the bathtub drain, immediately starting the water so it begins to heat up. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she strips Gon of his wet clothing. The feathers of her wings ruffle as they encircle him, momentarily keeping him warm. Gon’s body is chubby and soft, and it appears he can walk, based on how he has stood up on her lap. He’s impossibly precious. She supports him by holding his tiny hands in her own. He can’t be older than three.  
How could Ging do this? Her head feels like it is spinning, but there’s a love that already pushes against her ribcage for the young boy. Mito sits him down as she checks the bathtub water that laps higher and higher. It’s not too hot and not too cold.  
“Alright then.” Ging’s— Gon’s eyes flick up to hers. “Let’s get rid of that rain chill.”  
Gon’s werewolf ears flatten against his head as Mito lowers him towards the water, it’s like he expects it to be cold. When he realizes it’s warm, a beaming smile splits his face. Warmth seeps into Mito, slightly soothing the anger that rages inside of her from a few minutes earlier. She can tell Gon is a sweet kid who seems to enjoy just doing something mundane. His tail begins to wag as Mito squirts shampoo into her palm.  
“Thank you!” Gon says wobblily, and Mito almost drops the slippery shampoo bottle because of shock. She needed to hear that. Could he have known? After a second, she smiles back.  
“You’re welcome, Gon.”  
He seems to really enjoy it when Mito massages the shampoo into his thick, black locks. The suds bubble as she works it in and the scent of strawberries wafts through the steamy bathroom. Gon closes his eyes in pleasure and lets out a cute, contagious baby laugh. Maybe her fingers wiggling over his scalp is ticklish. Mito finds she starts laughing along with Gon, and she doesn’t know how, but for that moment it feels easy.  
“You seem to like baths! I’m a boring adult so I don’t have any bubble bath, but I think you’d like that!” She begins slathering him with body wash on a loofah and he giggles at that too, splashing Mito with a little water. “Hey!”  
She splashes him back, and by the time his bath is finished, the bathroom tile is soaked. This boy is going to be a handful. Also, she has no idea how to be a mother.


	3. Chapter 3

August 30th, 2123, fifteen years later

Gon stares at the picture of Ging on the refrigerator, the emulsion scratched and dulled with dust from how long it has been there. No matter how many times he looks at the picture of his dad, it still doesn’t make sense to Gon. From beneath the refrigerator magnet, Ging’s picture seems so vague and untelling despite how many times he has closely examined it. The sounds of chatter from the customers become remote as, unbeknownst to himself, Gon becomes glued to that image again, in search of some clue, anything at all. Ging’s eyes, which he undoubtedly passed onto his son, are shadowed and hidden beneath the brim of his cap, as though he didn’t want them to be seen at all. The only emotion that Gon can empathize from this portrait— the only one he has of his father— is rooted in guilt and shame. He doesn’t understand why that vibe oozes from the picture, but it just does.  
The morning sunlight mixed with the encouraging aroma of brewing coffee lights up the faux Ging, but it still reveals nothing. In the photo, Ging is ageless, frozen in a moment Gon cannot unstick no matter how hard he tries.   
Melody pushes the bowl of oatmeal towards him, and it skids along the wooden countertop until it clatters against his folded hands. The thick goop of the oatmeal barely shifts in the bowl. He doesn’t even have to look at Melody to know she is giving him that pointed expression— he had been staring again. He isn’t peeving her, but rather Mito, who feigns indignance as she stirs a lump of sugar into an order of coffee for a customer. The sun from the nearby window unearths the deep lines of worry in her face that he wouldn’t see otherwise. Her wings are flat against her back.  
Gon cradles the warm bowl in his hands, frowning at his actions. “Sorry, Mito-san.”  
Mito doesn’t say anything, but Melody and Gon both know she heard his apology— she just doesn’t want to acknowledge it. She has been touchy lately, especially after her mother and Gon’s grandmother, Abe, passed away this last spring. They hired Melody to fill in the lack of helping hands in the kitchen, but nothing they can do will fill in Abe’s absence, and that visibly frustrates her. Maybe that realization frightens Mito— that if Gon wants to chase after Ging, she won’t be able to fill the void of him being gone, either.  
Melody offers Gon a soft smile at the apology as Mito wordlessly continues to shuffle around the kitchen. All they can do for Mito at this point is to keep busy, and Gon and Melody have an unspoken agreement about that. Gon takes a spoonful of the gooey oatmeal, the bit of honey Melody had hidden at the bottom of his bowl pleasantly melting on his taste buds. Melody gives him a sly wink as she pleasantly hums along to the distant violin playing of their instrumentalist, Pouf, and wipes off the counter littered with pastry crumbs. For a moment, she pauses in her work to pleasantly close her eyes and wave her fingers, as if conducting her own orchestra. Gon wonders if music sounds better to Melody’s elvish ears— for once she catches a tune, it’s almost as if she falls in love with it. And so, with music constantly in her ears, Melody thrives in the hustle-and-bustle ambiance of the coffeehouse. He can’t remember a time when Melody didn’t seem to love her job.   
Gon hums as he takes another bite. The honey makes Gon think of outside the smog of the city, where the bees collect pollen from the wildflowers, just beyond the meadow at the city line. Oh, how Gon longs to run amongst the butterflies drinking their nectar, the rabbits that tickle their noses as they munch on the greens of wild carrot. Oh yeah, carrots.  
“Gotta set you in a good mood to get out in that heat,” she says, referencing the fact that she knows of his love of honey, as she waves her crooked wand. In a flurry of sparkles, the dishes begin to clean themselves. Gon nods, his ears twitching atop his head unpleasantly at the thought of working out in the garden during the most brutal heat wave of the summer.   
“The carrots looked especially dry from my bedroom window,” Gon groans, remembering the scraggly, dehydrated carrot stems surrounded by sun-caked dirt. “After one more good watering, they should be ready to harvest.” Melody glances at him from the corner of her eye to acknowledge she is listening despite rushing here and there to prepare orders.  
Gon sees Mito move towards the oven, and looks at her with care as she slips on her hand-me-down, worn oven mitts. She doesn’t seem to be upset anymore, which floods Gon with relief as he puts another spoonful of breakfast into his mouth. From the oven, Mito sets a hot tray of blueberry muffins onto the counter. To Gon’s hypersensitive nose, the smell is heavenly. Fluffy, sugary dough adorned with fresh blueberries…. It’s difficult for Gon to resist not sneaking a bite of muffin. She shuts the oven behind her and hurriedly begins to attend to baking elsewhere— in other words, a perfect opportunity to steal a nibble. His tail wags with excitement at the opportunity.  
Melody glances at him as she arranges an order of coffee cake onto a plate. “I see your eyes on those muffins, Gon,” she warns. His ears droop with slight guilt.  
“You caught me,” he confesses, scraping the last bit of oatmeal from his bowl. “How could you not be tempted, though, I mean, this is the best coffee shop in Yorknew!” Gon wipes his mouth on his sleeve, looking pleased to have warm food in his gut.  
Removing a mug from a cabinet, Melody smiles at him and says: “That it is.”  
Mito’s Coffeehouse has always been known in Yorknew City for its fantastic coffee brew and amazing pastries. It became famous quickly for a reason— although, Mito calls the fame a stroke of pure luck. Mito never imagined her self-run business would attract as many customers as it does. Thanks to her grandmother’s homemade recipes, the jenny has never been at a standstill. Many customers show up every day, as they can’t get enough of the friendly atmosphere and delicious coffee brew.   
“Order eleven for Spin!” Melody calls, and one of the coffeehouse regulars, Spin, places her cards down on the table, halting her game of Solitaire. Gon can always hear her bubble gum snap— even in the kitchen. Her bubbles are (in Gon’s opinion) far too impressive... how much would he have to practice to make his bubbles that big!?  
He doesn’t know her well, besides the fact that she loves card games— also, that she is an avid bubble gum chewer. Luckily, during their rounds of cleaning tables, no one has found any gum stuck to the bottom of her usual table, a seat by the far window. Mito wouldn’t be happy if they did, that’s for sure.  
“Thanks, Melody!” She calls, getting her order as she almost trips over Beans, a goblin getting his to-go cup at the same counter. He seems used to it though, with his short stature and all.   
He’s always been somewhat professional, though, and he overrides Spin’s overdone apology with a curt response of, “It’s fine, miss!”  
As the vice-principal of the academy a few blocks over, Mito’s Coffeehouse is the most convenient place for Beans to pick up his daily coffee. Since Gon is supposed to enroll at the end of the month, he hopes he gets some brownie points from Beans for being Mito’s son…. Just in case he gets into trouble as he does occasionally. He doesn’t mean to be a troublemaker, it’s just that his curiosity gets the best of him. The academy’s purpose is to train upcoming Hunters to the field, so Gon wants it to be definite that he graduates. Exploring and fulfilling requests in dungeons— that is just too intriguing of an idea for Gon.   
Pouf begins a particularly impressive set of notes on his violin from the corner, and Melody becomes visibly more jubilant as she pushes down the lever on the toaster.  
Gon hops off his stool, and, narrowly dodging a busy Melody, politely puts his dishes in the sink, where the sponge still infused with Melody’s magic swipes it up and begins scrubbing. Beans steps out the front door with his espresso, whilst an embarrassed Spin sinks her teeth into a warm coffee cake at her seat. A few crumbs fall onto her game of Solitaire and she waves a few of the cards to get them off. Melody continues to indulge in Pouf’s playing, and blissfully butters a slice of toast.  
Out of nowhere, the front door flings open and loudly hits the wall. Steaming coffee within mugs spread all about the coffeehouse ripple from the impact. Pouf is startled so badly that he makes a sour note on his violin, one that makes Melody almost drop her butter knife. The coffeehouse’s chatter abruptly hiccups, the good ambiance shattered. Gon’s eyes search for the culprit of the noise, jarred just like everyone else. Hushed murmurs fill the air as a grotesque figure enters the coffeehouse. Komugi, a shy pegasus, becomes nervous and hides behind the latest issue of the Yorknew Times that she had been reading. Although, she fails to hide the tip of her horn under the top edge of the newspaper.   
Gon watches curiously as the figure steps into sight.


	4. Chapter 4

The coffeehouse is at a standstill. Two grimy, green toes poke out from behind the entryway, and a cloud of smoke from the creature’s cigarette billows up to the ceiling. Before Gon sees him, he smells him. He reeks of something that should never have come above to the city, something that smells more putrid thanks to the summer’s heat. The first thing Gon catches sight of are his eyes— they’re bulged out, and swivel this way and that like there is nothing tethering them to his head. He flicks the butt of his cigarette, and ashes fall upon the once spotless floorboards.   
“Aren’t you good and ready…” The swampy creature mutters, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He is immediately feared. A collective gasp from the customers is quickly followed by distressed whispering amongst themselves.   
At the sight of him, a memory is triggered from when Gon was younger. It was a breezy day when he learned about this kind of creature. The bone wind chimes and odd trinkets jingled on the stall of the loony old merchant— the one who used to sell strange antiques in the marketplace. That day, he told Gon about argonians, in one of his nutty, yet interesting tangents that never failed to intrigue him. That’s when he learned to be wary of them.  
Gon, too, is surprised to see this species in plain daylight.   
He’s one of those reptilian creatures that are said to dwell in the sewer system. Gon looks at him harder, and yes, his scaly skin is dipped in the grime of the sewers. He grimaces. That means what the merchant told him wasn’t made up. The most prominent thing he remembers is him saying is that if you saw one, it was an omen— a telling that bad things were coming. Gon doesn’t know if he is superstitious or not, but he must be, because he also gets frightened at the sight of him. Gon is usually always happy to see a new face. But not this time. He feels a bit queasy; maybe this argonian was sent to curse them all. If so, Gon wishes he never came. Who is this? And what do they want? All of it feels strange and out-of-place.  
Numbly, he watches Mito professionally wipe her hands on her apron. Maybe it’s a way of switching her thoughts from hard work to that of dealing with this— problematic customer. As she comes from behind the counter, the lines in Mito’s face become deeper. The corners of her mouth turn downwards, so slightly that Gon would have missed it if he wasn’t studying her reaction. Melody wipes her hands off on a towel, watching Mito carefully in case she needs to step in. This customer isn’t a particularly friendly face.  
“May I help you?” Mito asks. Mr…?”  
“Meleoron,” the argonian huffs, letting the billowing cigarette hanging from his mouth drop to the floor. Under one ugly big toe, he grinds the butt of it into the floorboards, making Melody leer at him. “I’m not the one who needs help here.”  
“I’m sorry?” Mito says confusedly. “What do you mean?”  
“I came up here because of a werewolf,” he shoves his hands casually into his gray sweatshirt. The entire customer body goes silent, Gon swears he hears everyone’s hearts beating. It’s frightening to hear their hearts beat faster and faster. Immediately, Gon becomes alarmed, exchanging frantic eye contact with Melody. Seeing a color-sucked Gon is not a normal occurrence, and her usual placidity wavers because of it.  
One of Meleoron’s eyeballs drops like a swinging pendulum, seemingly beyond his control. A rigidness forms in the junction between Mito’s shoulder blades, and one of Gon’s ears twitches. “One’s about to turn.”  
“He couldn’t possibly mean...” Gon hears Mito whisper under her breath. The customers begin to murmur amongst themselves, a few of them shooting glances at Gon between words. Like everyone else in the coffeehouse, he has quickly put two and two together. Gon is clearly the only werewolf in here. He locks his jaw. This creature is here for him.   
He feels Mito’s frightened gaze on him, and her concern for him makes Gon more anxious. A hundred nagging questions form in his brain, and a lot of blood rushes to his head to keep them flowing. He still feels the customer’s gazes awling into him. While Gon is one to draw people to him easily, he doesn’t like this kind of negative attention. It’s strange to think that the coffeehouse was so pleasant a second ago: now it feels as though the peace was never there.   
“No need to be alarmed.” His long tongue coils up to itch his eyeball, and Mito tries not to flinch at the freakish display. In a way, the argonian’s face looks almost friendly, at least, as much as it can look. Gon tries to grasp onto the possibility that he’s nice, because it offers a little comfort. Although, it’s hard to look past his morbid appearance— that’s the sad truth.  
“Please, sir,” Mito respectfully nods at Meleoron, her face twitching, fighting to look calm. She’s trying to stay professional, but Gon sees right through it. Mito is balling up her apron in her fist.   
Everyone holds their breath as the argonian follows Mito towards the back of the coffeehouse. When Meleoron is out of sight, gradually, the normal chatter builds up again. After all that happened, Gon still can’t wrap his head around it. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice Melody approaching him: and she’s worried, it’s obvious.   
“Do you think it’s me?” Gon says.  
Melody sighs as she sets an order of chai on the pick-up counter. “I wish I could say I didn’t.” She then calls out a customer’s name, so they can get their drink— but Gon is too troubled to register the sound. Although, he is brought out of his reverie by the customer who approaches to get their drink. The first thing Gon thinks about him is that his eyes look like they hold thunderstorms. He doesn’t know why, but Gon can practically smell the angry storm brewing in his expression. It’s jarring to get that kind of vibe from someone, in the least.  
When Melody looks at him, though, a tired, but honestly lovely smile comes to him. He looks better that way, Gon decides.  
“Thanks for the drink,” he says. His voice is more calming than Gon expected. It’s only when he lifts the cup does Gon hear the jangle of the chains that connect to the rings on his fingers. He’s interesting, and Gon likes him because of that.   
“Anytime, Kurapika.” Melody smiles at him, before heading into the kitchen again. When she turns her back, Kurapika, the customer, puts a finger to his lips, as if telling Gon to keep quiet. Immediately, he’s confused as he watches him rifle through his wallet—until Kurapika slides one-hundred jenny into the tip jar. A warmth swells in Gon at the sight of the incredibly generous tip. He and Melody must have some sort of special connection. Gon’s tail begins to wag, he can’t help it. That was really nice of him.  
Kurapika turns with his drink, and leaves the shop, the back of his blond hair looking sunny to Gon. Maybe his personality isn’t like torrential rain, as he’d thought before.  
He pauses for a moment. Oh no! He had gotten so caught up in how interesting Kurapika was that he forgot about Mito!  
“I’m gonna go check on aunt Mito,” Gon says hurriedly, rushing past Melody who is pulling some strudel from the oven.   
“Okay,” Melody nods. She knows that Gon is just going to eavesdrop; but she doesn’t stop him. She’s curious, too.  
Melody didn’t scold him for listening in, and Gon couldn’t help but think it was very dislike her to not reprimand him. The only explanation that Gon come up with (as to why she wouldn’t) is that she was curious to know the inside scoop, too. As Gon nears the door that separates the kitchen from their living quarters; he begins to hear muffled speech. Words are being exchanged that are only meant to be heard by select ears. Their voices came out with a sort of desperation— just as desperate as he is to know what is happening. Gon found when people whispered with urgency it was annoyingly hard to understand what they are saying.  
“...he’s a werewolf, yes?” Gon hears Meleoron say. Meleoron has a somewhat raspy voice, as though he huffs on his cigarette at every moment between dawn and dusk. Melody’s eyes cut over to him briefly as she puts a few bills into the cash register. Why is this argonian here? How will Mito handle it?  
“Yes, that is correct.” Mito’s whispers become more vehement as her frustration surmounts— everything she said came out in angry puffs.   
“It’s not safe for him to be in the open when he is this close to changing,” Meleoron says. “He could hurt someone.” Gon’s ear twitches against the door he leans against to hear better. What does he mean? Why would Gon of all people ever harm someone? What does Meleoron mean by “changing”?  
“So what do you intend to do?” Gon bristles at the anger flaring in Mito’s voice. “Why are you here, exactly?”  
There is a pause, a tension that seeps even though the door. Meleoron clears his throat. “I am a scouter for an underground organization,” Eager to hear more, Gon remains silent, “In order to help keep the public safe.”   
“Safe from what?” Mito retorts, her defenses raised. Gon hears her foot tap against the floorboards, she’s expectant for a viable answer. “Gon would never hurt anyone.”  
“That’s great,” Meleoron says, taking a deep breath. “I trust the kid just by looking at him, but that won’t stop him once he changes.” There is a pause.   
For the first time, Gon feels frightened about what being himself means: but his adrenaline-junkie self loves every moment of it. He’s in danger, but the feeling gives him a sort of high as the anxiety hums in his nerves.   
“He has this look in his eyes that makes me think he’s a good kid. A werewolf that helped run the organization a few years ago reminds me a lot of him…” He hums for a moment, as though he is thinking. “Ging, was it?”  
At the mention of his father, Gon’s heart leaps. Ging.  
Mito takes in a shaky breath that Gon can hear through the door. “Nevermind that,” Gon presses his ear as closely to the door as he can. “How do I know that I can trust you to take care of my son?”  
Figuring out what this argonian is going on about is tempting; if he understands what it truly means to be a werewolf, he can understand Ging better. Also, the skin of the species he too lives in.   
“Honestly, I can’t do or say anything that will make you trust me. You just have to see me, and that I have no malice towards you or Gon. But if he doesn’t come with me, it’s not unusual that people can end up dead.”  
Obviously, she is stuck between a rock and a hard place— she has no choice. She either denies this shady person from taking her son (as it is possible he is lying and just mentally ill) or she runs the risk of Gon changing without preparation and him possibly hurting others: and himself. Even if Meleoron is certainly not a welcoming species, Mito can’t see any malice in those wandering eyes. If anything, Mito only sees a glint of concern. It derails Mito’s previous assumptions about him. Gon has taught her to be perceptive to people’s true nature and intentions, not their reputations. She can’t help but think Gon would urge her to let him meet with Meleoron, and she can’t argue with that thought. Even though she has set her mind, her logic still screams at her that this might be a dire mistake. If her mother was alive, she would have told Mito to trust in Gon— as he isn’t helpless, and can handle things himself. That was enough to calm her.   
“I don’t like it,” she began, and Gon pressed his ear flat against the door to hear her better. “But it’s not like I have a choice.”  
Gon’s labored breath shakily escapes him as he moves away from the door. He finds he doesn’t want to hear more. The thought of hurting someone....it terrifies him. How can he not be aware of something brewing right underneath his own skin, something riddled in his blood? As a werewolf, animalistic tendencies must take over, human emotions are frivolous and are blown right through.  
For the first time, Gon is seeing what it means to be a monster.


	5. Chapter 5

Gon sits back on the stool by the counter; his face is too serious, unfitting. How did he never know that someday he would change into a heinous beast? After what he’d just heard, a gaping pit has formed under his ribs. He can’t imagine himself attacking innocent people: it’s just not like him at all. But—really— he can’t do anything to stop it? If he can’t stop it, how can Meleoron possibly contain it?  
Melody’s magic swirls in sparkles around the sink and bubbles float aimlessly around. A sponge works its nonexistent knuckles to the bone, turning dirty plates a pristine white again. He looks up at Melody, who rests her elbows on the counter across from him. He told her everything that he heard, and she too seems a bit distressed about it. She tugs at a pointed elf ear, sighing at the predicament.  
Shaking her head, she says: “Gon, all werewolves go through their first change.” From the front door, the bell rings as someone leaves the coffeehouse. “However, I don’t know what this argonian has to do with that.”  
“Being a part of an organization means he’s probably scouted many werewolves before me,” Gon says, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the countertop. “So he must an expert on what to do when it’s time for me to turn.”  
“Well, yes, when you think about it that way…” Melody moves away from the counter and instead pulls some pre-made frosting from the refrigerator. The doughnuts must have cooled since Gon was in the kitchen last. “You do have a point. Also, from what I’ve heard, his heartbeat hasn’t sped up in a way that says he’s lying.” With sharp elvish hearing, Melody is very reliable when it comes to things like heartbeats (and minute details that Gon would never catch).  
What she said brings Gon some piece of mind. While Melody puts her work first and foremost, she always keeps tabs on what Gon and Mito’s current situations are. She is part of the family— employee or not.   
“Well, then I must have an adventure in store for me!” Melody blinks at him once, twice, and then smiles at his optimism despite being in a tight situation. The tension in Gon’s gut loosens a bit, but now the real question is: will Mito allow it? The most rational choice for Mito to make is letting Meleoron take care of him. Gon doesn’t know if she will make that choice.  
More importantly, what will Meleoron do to him?  
Melody goes back to work, because they don’t have anything else to say. Talking around in circles won’t do much good: and Melody and him know this. After a certain point, Gon finds it’s better to let it brew in his head until he can come up with a possible solution. To keep himself busy, Gon brings an order of iced coffee and a muffin to the pick-up counter. It doesn’t occupy him for long, though.   
He startles when he hears the doorknob to the back rooms twist. Meleoron slinks out of the door and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He sticks an unlit one between his lips, and one eye rolls towards Gon. He’s probably thinking about their plans later— but something about that gaze is knowing, and that makes Gon self-conscious, even though he doesn’t know what it’s about. Could he know that he had listened in on their conversation? If Meleoron knew he had eavesdropped, he was fine with that (if anything, it just made his character look bad.) The only one he wants to keep unaware is Mito. Meleron holds his lighter up to his cigarette as he leaves the coffee shop, and is gone before the first tendril of smoke can reach the rafters.   
Mito returns to the kitchen the moment he leaves, smoothing back a few flyaways and straightening her apron.   
“Gon, may I have a word with you?” Gon flinches, and the plates clink together on the tray he’s carrying. He holds his breath as the coffee almost, but doesn’t, slosh over the rim of the mug.   
“Yes, Mito-san!” He says. “I’m bringing an order to the counter, I’ll be right there!” He hurriedly takes care of it and approaches Mito, who waits tiredly to talk to him.  
“Hi, Mito-san.” Gon gives her a warm smile. “I assume things will be alright now, ne?” The tension in her face softens.   
Gon, with his warm demeanor and strong determination, will be fine. Abe will watch over him, and keep him safe— even if he can undoubtedly take care of it on his own. It’s taken a while for Mito to realize that Gon can truly handle things: but he’s proved he can many times before. Putting her full trust in him is the least she can do: not only that, but it helps her sleep better at night.  
“Yes,” she says warmly. “They will.” Gon’s smile spreads wider. He feels a lot better about the whole ordeal. “Later tonight, however, Meleoron is gonna pick you up. He assured me that you will be in good hands.”  
Instead of the original fear he had, Gon is filled with excitement instead. “Okay. I know I’ll be fine, Mito-san.”  
Mito affectionately ruffles his unruly black hair before moving away to continue her work in the kitchen. For a moment, he smiles to himself and wonders about the adventure in store for him later today.  
From the register, Melody laughs at a joke told by Leorio, a wizard with an affinity for the coffeehouse’s strudel. From what he’s overheard from their day-to-day conversations, he’s the Alchemy professor at the academy (where Gon will be attending in the early fall.) Even though he is a bit loud, and has a temper, he never fails to intrigue Gon— especially because he’s brash, funny, and not afraid to be himself.  
“You have such a warm heartbeat, Mr. Leorio.” Melody’s face is still lightened in humor from the aftereffects of Leorio’s joke.  
Leorio blushes and rubs embarrassedly at one of his sideburns. “Just Leorio is fine.”  
Leorio peers at Gon through his peculiar glasses as he slides some jenny across the counter at Melody. To her, he says: “Oh, yeah, you mentioned something about Gon attending the academy in the fall, didn’t ya?”  
As she counts out change, she nods, looking excited for Gon. “That’s right. It’s all he’s been talking about!”  
Gon sheepishly rubs at his ears. “It’s true, Mr. Leorio.”  
Leorio looks truly happy for him. “Just Leorio, please,” he takes the to-go bag that must contain some strudel. “Calling me “mister” anything just makes me sound old.” He shoves his wallet back into his pocket. “I’ll be excited to see you this fall!” Winking at him, he says goodbye with a mock salute and leaves with his pastry.   
“Now then…” Melody begins, straightening the bandana that keeps her hair out of her face. “Don’t you have a date with the vegetable garden?” Gon straightens. Oh, yeah. He forgot amidst everything that was going on.   
“Yeah! Thanks for reminding me: Kon will hiss at me if I forget his daily saucer of milk again. The chickens will peck at my boots until I feed them, the vegetables will begin to die… man, there’s a lot I have to catch up on!” As he says this, he pulls a big straw hat from the coat rack and grabs the wicker basket.  
“Thanks for your help Gon,” Melody moves out of the way of Mito, who’s trying to set a hot tray of oatmeal cookies on the counter. “It’s better to get it done early, you’re not gonna feel like going in that heat after noontime when it’s worse.”  
“You’re right,” Gon says. “I’ll take care of it.” Outside, the ground looks the way banana bread does when you leave it in the oven too long. A few of their chickens have already moved from the coop and into the garden, and they peck between the scraggly weeds for worms and grubs. They cluck at Gon when he enters the yard, but continue to peck at the ground in the shade, out of the direct sun. In this heat, they are unlikely to have much luck. It’s a sure sign that they are hungry, at least. Gon spreads feed for them, and their heads twitch, observing for a moment, beaks and eyes looking unblinkingly into points of space in a way Gon never understood about chickens. After a few seconds, though, they begin to gobble their breakfast.  
Nearby, a cicada buzzes, a sound that Gon used to think— when he was little— was the sound the sun made when it beat down. Gon peers into the coop as they eat, and searches the hay and stray feathers for any eggs that may have been laid overnight. A hen, who is still roosting on her nest, clucks at Gon’s approaching hands. Her gold feathers ruffle up like a Chinese fan. Gon guesses she doesn’t want to go into the yard just yet and is probably still sitting on an egg. To calm her down, he pats the ruffled plumage on her back, and she blinks at him blankly but stops clucking. Then, she flaps her wings and moves for him, instead joining the other hens in the yard.   
Cradled in the hay beneath her lies a perfect, spotted brown egg. Gon moves around the coop, delicately placing the fresh eggs in his basket. He comes up with more eggs than he expected. A few times, the thought of Meleoron and their plans occupy his thoughts. How will it play out?  
Behind him, one of the chickens squawks as if frightened by something. Gon sets down his basket as he sees the orange cat that is batting at the hen’s beak.  
“There you are, Kon!” The cat responds with a little chirping noise, and what could only be described as an excited purr. He stops antagonizing the poor hen. While Kon is distracted, it runs to another corner of the garden.   
The cat rubs himself affectionately against Gon’s legs, and Gon rubs the spot under his chin (Kon’s favorite spot to be petted) and the purring gets a little louder.   
“Silly cat, why do you refuse to stay inside when it’s this hot out, ne?”  
Kon tilts his head, and doesn’t respond, but instead begins to clean the spot between his ears with his paw.  
“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. A nice saucer of cream will cool you down a bit…”  
Kon’s tail is straight up in contentment. Right at Gon’s heels, he follows Gon as he heads to the back door, bringing the basket of eggs to take inside (since he is going in anyway.) As Kon waits for Gon to return with his treat, he bats at a leaf that ended up on the back porch. When Gon appears again with a full saucer, he mewls, circling Gon’s ankles.   
“Okay! Okay! I’m setting it down now, Kon! Someone’s especially eager today.”  
As soon as he sets down the saucer, the orange cat’s pink tongue laps at the cream, and he makes little happy noises as he drinks. Gon smiles. Kon has always been a loving pet. He rubs his finger at the fur between his shoulders, before he gets back to work in the garden. Mito doesn’t like it when he gets sidetracked. He still has to water the plants.  
The well is as dry as a bone, at least, that’s how it looks when Gon looks down it. He grabs the crank, which is unpleasantly hot. On days like these, especially, he doesn’t expect any water to come up— but it always does. How it does, even in this heat, is something that baffles him. Some water spills over the rim of the pail, and droplets fall back into the depths of the well. The bucket is heavy with water as he lugs it over to the sorry-looking garden. He watered them just yesterday morning, and yet, the soil looks like it hasn’t tasted water in years.  
Gon dips his fingers into the water. Rubbing some water on the nape of his neck, he pours the water into the watering can and begins to shower the dry produce. The sickly green leaves look a little healthier by the time he finishes. However, by some miracle, one of the sprouts was green and leafy before he even watered them.   
It looks like this carrot did exceptionally well. Maybe it was because the tree on the far left side of the fence casts a shadow over it. For that reason, it probably didn’t dry out as much as the others. Experimentally, he digs his fingers into the wet dirt around the stem. He smiles— the magic Melody uses on them amazes Gon. From the shed, he gets a wheelbarrow and a shovel. Around the plant, he digs until his shirt is soaked with sweat. Then, he heaves.   
The carrot, which is as big as the coffeehouse’s oven, pulls free. Gon drops the giant carrot into the wheelbarrow with a resounding “dong.”  
Well, they’ll probably have enough for carrot cake.  
Melody is delighted to see what Gon dug up.  
“This is why we still keep a garden— you can’t buy produce like this in the marketplace!”  
It takes both of them to clean it off. Turns out it didn’t matter when Gon started his work outside: he spent all day working anyways. By the time they properly store it (the fact that their refrigerator is enchanted helps a lot) the chickens have filed into their coop for the night. Kon has long since licked the saucer clean and has set out once again to hunt the rats that come into the city to eat trash at nightfall.  
In less than an hour, Meleoron will be here. And Gon finds he can’t wait.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun lies low between the skyscrapers. Gon likes how long the daylight lasts in the summer: it’s sad to him that it can’t last forever. He steps onto the front porch. Meleoron is supposed to meet him at 7. It’s going to take a while for the hour to finally roll around, especially since he’s excited— when Gon feels like this, the time might as well be made of the molasses. That makes him think of the delicious molasses cookies Mito makes on Wednesdays, and now he’s hungry, too! Gon decides waiting sucks.   
To pass the time, he watches the people that walk on the sidewalks: businessmen with briefcases, artists, fashionably-dressed women. He recognizes what creature some of them are, and other times he doesn’t. To not know is an intriguing thought. Gon’s tail wags, there are so many interesting people in the city!  
Also, he reads the blackboard next to their front door over and over. Gon especially likes how Melody wrote: “Mito’s Coffeehouse.” Melody’s handwriting looks especially good in white chalk. Their special of the week is now, not surprisingly, carrot cake. She even took the time to illustrate a slice. Melody, like a good chunk of the people who live in Yorknew City, has an affinity for art. All the paintings in the coffeehouse are her originals, and she occasionally puts one for sale. While Gon can only rival a two-year-old in crayon art, when he looks at Melody’s work it inspires him to create, too.  
Meleoron shows up as soon as it turns to 7— he’s surprisingly timely. He tucks what seems to be a rinky-dink pocket watch into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Breathing out smoke, he says: “Heya, Gon.” He’s casual, and Gon feigns a smile; it’s as if they’re old friends. “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”  
“I’m not worried about that,” Gon says, standing from where he sits on the coffeehouse’s front steps. Meleoron looks taken aback, obviously he wasn’t expecting that sort of response. His gaze moves from Gon’s too-trusting face to the darkening sky to gather his thoughts.   
“How could you openly trust someone like me?” He takes another drag of his cigarette. He exhales: “usually I have to work hard to get people to believe that I’m not dangerous.” That’s when Gon realizes Meleoron gets it: and something about that makes him sad. He can’t imagine being feared just for being who you are. Gon’s quiet for a moment, and then responds.  
“To me, all I see is someone trustworthy. What you look like and stereotypes attached to that doesn’t define you.”  
An aghast look comes over Meleoron’s face. Scratching at his blond goatee, he smiles, showing his friendly nature that Gon knows was there in the first place.   
“That’s a little odd; but I appreciate the sentiment, kid.”  
The street lights flicker on, and by the time they set off, the moths begin to cluster. They walk down the sidewalks without talking— neither of them knows what to make of each other. They’re not close enough (yet, Gon tells himself) to talk without that “we just met” sort of awkwardness. Instead, each of them focuses on the nightlife in the city. It’s always bright and bustling, even when it gets dark out, and it offers a lot of interesting sights to distract themselves with. Despite Gon preferring the more rural areas to the west, he likes how the city always feels alive. He gets caught up in his thoughts and doesn't register where they’re walking.  
The coffeehouse gives him a slice of the homey countryside anyways— it’s made of wood unlike the industrial skyscrapers and office buildings that surround it. Also, the fact that they have a garden and chickens inside a fence is unusual to see in Yorknew.   
“I wish I ordered something when I came earlier,” Meleoron says suddenly, and Gon looks at him, neon lights dance across his face as they pass by a nightclub. “Everything smelled great, especially when you live in the slimy tunnels underground.”   
Gon nods. “You’re always welcome! Mito can’t turn down a customer who helps out her son!” Meleron laughs but then looks methodical as he stares down at the sidewalk’s concrete.  
“Mito seems like a nice lady.” Meleoron drops his cigarette butt and grinds it down with his foot. “Poor thing must be scared to death you’ll trust the wrong person someday.” Gon blinks.   
“What do you mean?” Meleoron gives him a dumb look. They turn from the main street into a side one.   
“It’s nothing.”  
Another block over, Meleoron looks behind him, as if he’s trying to see if someone’s watching. Gon looks too, and Meleoron slaps a palm to his forehead. This kid. He grabs Gon by the elbow and, inconspicuously as he can, pulls him into the alley.  
It seems like the alleyway holds the most shadow in the city. Possibly, it’s because the streetlamp in front of it is faulty and has a flickering bulb.  
As soon as they step foot in it, Gon asks: “Is someone following us?” Meleoron huffs. He’s so naive.   
“No, but if we were you’d tip them off by looking too, I don’t know, suspicious of their activity.” Gon’s face falls, guilty. “Gosh, I need another smoke…”   
“I’m sorry, Mr. Meleoron!” He claps both of his hands together in apology, and Meleoron can’t help but soften at that.  
“Eh, whatever,” he says gruffly, ruffling Gon’s hair. “Just tryin’ to keep you out of trouble.”   
They walk further down. The almost claustrophobic space between the two buildings doesn’t make Gon feel particularly comfortable.   
“How many werewolves have you helped?” Gon asks, and Meleoron kicks a piece of trash out of his path while he visibly thinks.  
“Dozens. The timing between scouting is pretty spread out, as there aren’t a ton of werewolves in the city, and it takes time for them to get old enough to go through their first change. Otherwise, me and the other employees work with our boss, Kite, to gather supplies and refine management techniques.”  
Gon tries to absorb as much as he can. A gray alley cat, that looks almost feral, hisses at them as they pass by. There is a “drip, drip, drip” from a leaky pipe somewhere. They come to a large, green dumpster that barely fits in the alley. It’s very obviously in use and stinks like someone’s rancid dinner from a week ago. Flies whiz by Gon’s head.  
Meleoron watches the way Gon’s nose scrunches up. “It keeps people from snooping around. No one wants to explore around this reek.”   
Meleoron puts his hands on the side of it and pushes. The dumpster groans, but moves out of the way.  
Behind it, Gon expects to see something worth hiding. Instead, all he sees is the side of another building— a dead end. With what little light filters into the alleyway, he sees the lip of the manhole cover. Gon should have expected they would be going into the sewers: argonians do live there. To think that there is an organization to deal with werewolves under the city is baffling to him.   
“Okay, sorry Gon, but I’m gonna have to blindfold you for some time. If you see where we are going, and when you change are able to escape, you’ll get above the streets— and that’s the last thing we want.”  
Meleoron shifts the manhole cover to the side, and a disgusting smell assault’s Gon’s nose. A sewer rat scurries out and instead finds solace in the stinky dumpster behind them. Yeah, he’s gonna want a shower after this one.  
“Hmmm, give me a second.” Meleoron pulls out a rag longer than it is wide, and a bottle of some stuff Gon has never seen before. To any other person, this would put off many alarm bells in their head. However, Gon trusts Meleoron, and watches with rapt fascination.  
He untwists the cap on the bottle, and a chemical smell permeates the air. Meleoron pours some of it onto one half of the cloth and ties the rag around Gon’s head, so the still-dry part is over his eyes and the chemical-soaked part is over his nose. The second it’s over his face, his sense of sight and smell is gone within seconds. It makes Gon panic, as he suddenly realizes how much he relies on his senses— especially his sense of smell, as a werewolf. His sense of smell usually helps him to even navigate a room— just by how scent sticks to walls and objects. Now, he may as well be drugged, because he feels like he can’t even stand up straight.  
“Don’t worry, Gon, I know it’s a little rough right now, but I’ll act as your nose and eyes, okay? Just focus on the sound of my voice.” Meleoron grabs Gon’s hand, and it’s freezing (because he’s probably cold-blooded) but it’s soothing against his sweaty skin.  
“Mhm,” Gon affirms, ears swiveling this way and that to make up for his loss of senses. He can handle this. Meleoron leads the wobbly Gon to the manhole cover and puts his boot-clad foot on the first rung of the ladder that leads down to the sewers. Steadying him, Meleoron tells him to climb down, and Gon manages, although carefully. Once he’s halfway down, Meleoron follows and slides the manhole cover back into place. It clunks with an eerie metal sound that echoes further than Gon would think. It’s now dark and stuffy, and Gon still has no idea what he’s gotten into.


	7. Chapter 7

The air is too heavy; it sticks to his skin. As he reaches the bottom of the cold-metaled ladder, there is a film of water under his boots: just enough for it to be slippery. Water rushes somewhere in the distance, and nearby he hears some dripping to the sewer bottom. It makes an unsettling echo that travels farther than he expected. Gon tries to focus on the sound of Meleoron close by, it helps to calm the nerves caused by feeling vulnerable. He misses a few things immediately— his senses and the nighttime breeze from above the city. It’s scary to Gon that he doesn’t know how long it’ll be until he gets out. He breathes slowly in and out, but the muggy air clings inside his lungs and it takes more effort to be pushed back out.   
“We’ll have to walk a bit farther to get to the block we’ve assigned you.” Meleoron claps Gon on the shoulder. “Won’t be much longer. When we get there, you won’t have to wear the blindfold.”  
Gon is so relieved to hear this— even though it is exciting to feel so vulnerable. He likes the nervous adrenaline he gets whenever a situation is possibly dangerous. Mito’s usual scolding to “keep out of trouble” rings in his mind.   
They begin walking again, and water squelches under their feet. To steady him as they walk, Meleoron holds Gon’s elbow. They take a lot of confusing turns that Gon couldn’t even hope to keep track of. The air becomes more stagnant as they move deeper and deeper into the sewer system. The resounding sounds of moving water and aching pipes catch the interest on the main sense Gon relies on: hearing. He’s probably like this because it’s an inborn reaction of the body to make up for some of his senses being useless.  
Gon wants to ask Meleoron some questions, but for some reason, he keeps his mouth shut. He’s using too much energy to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and to latch onto every sound of the sewer that he can.  
Meleoron stops walking and holds Gon’s shoulder firmly in place so he stops, too.   
“We’re here,” Meleoron says. A metal door groans open: it needs some WD-40. Meleoron guides him inside, and Gon flinches when he hears the door slam behind him and gears grind harshly together as though they’re making it impossible to turn back. Suddenly, hands are undoing the rag knotted at the back of Gon’s head. The cloth falls off his eyes and nose, and he squints despite his surroundings being dark. Torches line the metal walls, and for the first time in a while, he sees Meleoron, who looks different, underground and in the firelight. More menacing, maybe, even though Meleoron is anything but.   
As his eyes adjust, he begins to realize that where he is looks like some sort of bomb shelter. His sense of smell begins to return, and he smells coppery rust and metal. The room looks so sturdy that he doubts anything— not even a missile— can dent it.   
In front of him is a desk with papers strewn everywhere, ones that have odd, complicated-looking drawings on them. There’s also a cup of muddy coffee, and a desk lamp with such a bright light it hurts to look at it. Whoever works here must need some sleep: it just gives off that vibe.  
Behind the desk, a man sits. His hair is long and stark white, and his nose hooked and pointy, but it suits his scrutinizing face. He tips his hat back, enough so Gon can see one of his intense eyes. Its iris is black like a beetle.  
That’s when Gon notices the glint of a blade from behind the desk, and he pales at the sight of the long scythe. To appear casual, Gon smiles warily.   
“Nice of you to show up, Gon.” The man offers a hand for him to shake. “I’m Kite.”  
When Gon grabs his hand, it’s as cold as a corpse. His fingers are boney, too. But Gon still greets him warmly.  
“Nice to meet you,” Gon says. Meleoron smiles between the two.  
“Kite’s our boss! He’s a bit of a hard-nose, but he’s much more responsible than our last one.”  
“Alright, alright,” Kite quiets him, but his lips quirk at the edges. “Meleoron, you’re excused. Rations will be dished out at the usual time.”  
Meleoron nods and pats Gon’s head reassuringly. “I’m gonna leave you with Kite, but you’ll see me throughout the time that you’re here.” He pulls out a lighter, and heads for what must be a long-overdue cigarette break. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Gon, Kite will take good care of you.” After saying that, he leaves, and Gon is left alone with the mysterious man Kite, who happens to have a weapon of war behind the front desk.   
“The amount of werewolves that have come through here has been dwindling lately,” Kite says casually as he begins to rifle in one of his desk drawers. It sounds like there’s a lot of stuff in there. “Having only two werewolves assigned to one bunker is pretty unusual, usually we have upwards of five.”   
Gon looks at the neat line of bolts in the metal flooring. “So business has been slow?”  
“You could say that.” Kite finds the set of keys he was looking for. “I’m usually kept busy with mapping dungeon star patterns, but for scouters like Meleoron, it must feel like a whole ‘lotta waiting. But fluctuations like these are normal.”  
“You map what?” That seems to be all Gon got from everything Kite said.  
“Star patterns,” Kite replies and sits down in his metal chair when he realizes Gon is interested. He gestures for Gon to stand beside him, and Gon warily looks between him and the scythe before coming closer. Kite’s hands look pale against the papers he shuffles through. Each is a jumbled, complex, yet elegant mess of pencil marks: coordinates, lines drawn connected by dots, long lists of notes.   
“Reapers like me are connected to celestial bodies, and destiny, if you will.” Gon listens with rapt attention— his curiosity has been piqued. Kite takes a sip of his muddy coffee. “I can usually figure out where rare dungeons are going to appear, or what may come up in someone’s future— just by how the stars and planets are arranged.”  
Gon’s eyes sparkle with awe as he looks upon Kite’s work. “So cool!” Kite blinks. “Are you with the Hunter Association?”  
Kite is surprised that Gon would suspect such a thing. “That’s introspective of you. I am.” As Kite looks at Gon’s face, he can’t help but get the feeling they’ve met before, or that he’s seen him somewhere. He can’t place it.  
“Wow!” Gon looks excited. “I can’t wait to be a hunter!”  
Kite laughs at that. He’s been alive for a long time, but that enthusiasm is like nothing he’s seen before.   
“Yeah? Well, maybe we’ll work more closely once you graduate.” Kite stands up. “But first, I’ve gotta get you through this week.”  
Kite likes the kid. He really does. But this week, well, it’s not for the faint of heart.


	8. Chapter 8

The room is so claustrophobic that it probably doesn’t even allow air to pass through. With walls reinforced with blocks of cement, the space looks like a cube of confinement. From behind Gon, Kite pushes on his back to move him forward. Instantly, it piques Gon’s attention that there’s someone already here— someone with werewolf ears like his own.   
She’s shackled to the wall. Her lithe arms and shoulders ripple like black pythons as she looks up at them.   
She has a scent that makes Gon feel soothed: it’s distinctive, bestial, and familiar somehow, even though he’s never smelt it in his life. She seems to have noticed him too, he feels her looking at him before they even lock gazes; but when they do, Gon feels some sort of connection. Against her dark skin, her pale, gray eyes almost glow like starlight on a murky river. Wild, coiled black hair frames her face in a way that makes Gon believe a part of her personality is stern, or she holds a heavy responsibility. The chains binding her by the wrists and ankles clink together as she watches them.  
“Canary is the other werewolf that is changing the next full moon,” Kite says, and Gon takes a step towards her. “Like you.”  
Being around someone else of his kind fills his senses and eases him. It’s almost like they’re a part of some spirit pack, and they would already ride or die for each other. Gon’s never experienced a connection like this, but it’s a comfortable fostering of kinship.  
Canary doesn’t say anything, as though she’s far too compliant with this ordeal. Kite leads Gon next to her, where another set of handcuffs dangle on the wall. Gon guesses those are for him. He’s a little confused about all of this, but he trusts Kite, just like he trusts Meleoron. It’s not something he has to question, either. His gut sense on who’s trustworthy or not has always been right in the past.   
“We shackle you to the wall for the days leading up to the full moon. These handcuffs have a spell on them that saps your energy— so that when you change, it’s a lot easier to deal with.” Gon decides that makes sense. As Kite clasps them on, his hands feel icy when he brushes against his skin.  
As soon as the restraints snap into place, fatigue overcomes his body so suddenly that his temples begin to throb. He’s never experienced becoming so tired so quickly. It’s like the buzz of energy is vibrating out of his limbs and being sucked away. Suddenly, he wants to shut his eyes a while and not move, maybe take a nap.   
“Meleoron will be around shortly with your dinner.” Kite tightens the chains, and they become taut instead of slack. “He will feed it to you. By keeping you still, and having you not move much, your arms and legs will be weaker by the time the full moon comes.”  
Gon looks up at Kite as he comprehends what he said. He realizes the serious lengths that are being taken to ease his change. If they have to go to extremes like this, what happens when a werewolf changes? And why does it sound like he’ll be too strong to control? Could that be true?  
He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize Kite left the room until a heavy door slams shut. The locks do-up themselves behind him in a complicated blur of mechanisms:   
It looks so securely shut that probably a dump truck full of dynamite couldn’t open it.   
He’s glad he’s not alone. Canary is looking at him— studying him— he can feel it. He cranes his neck to look at her. She has a steely gaze.  
“Hi! I’m Gon Freecs!” His tail wags, and beats against the cold, stone ground. For how bleak their situation is, Gon’s warmth towards her is almost comical, or ironic. He’s so excited, she’s a werewolf, like him!  
“Nice to meet you, Gon,” she’s very polite, but in a hospitable way. “I’m Canary.” Her ears twitch atop her head, and it brings out Gon’s fascination with her strong features.   
He doesn’t know what to say to her, even though there are a million questions he would like to ask. Gon decides on the question that pops into his mind first.   
“And who are you, Canary?” She looks taken aback by his straightforwardness.   
It’s weird, Canary thinks, to have a pleasant conversation with someone while shackled to a wall.   
“I’m a butler for the Zoldyck family.” She shifts in the way she’s sitting, as she’s trying to figure out whether to tell him more or not. It’s not like she’s talking about something classified, they’re notoriously famous— by no means unheard of. Oh well, he seems trustworthy, and he has a sunny disposition, so she folds. “The family of world-class assassins.”  
Gon’s eyes glitter: he’s fascinated. “Wow! I’ve never heard of them, but they sound so cool!”  
“You haven’t?” Canary looks stunned. That's strange, especially since they are underneath the same city where their estate is.   
The Zoldycks aren’t exactly a mousey presence. Citizens fear them for a good reason; after all, they’re a family of trained killers. Their mansion looms over Yorknew City, surrounded by a gate too heavy to be opened by anyone other than a member of the family— not to mention, if you’re creative and find a way past it, you’ll surely get eaten by the large family dog, Mike. Not exactly a welcoming place.  
“No, I’ve never heard of them.” Gon shakes his head. “Should I know them?” It’s an odd question. He rolls his shoulders, and the chains holding up his arms rattle.   
Maybe Canary’s biased, but she wants to tell him: “yes, of course you should!” But that would entail explaining to Gon why the Zoldycks— namely Killua— aren’t as they seem, and she doesn’t know how to explain it. Is she up for talking about that with someone? She’s always kept her soft spot for the young Zoldyck hidden from everyone else; it would be dangerous to talk to other butlers about it. She could be fired or killed. Both. Yeah, both.  
However, it’s not like there would be any consequences from telling Gon about it. If anything, she could get a lot off her chest: namely the guilt that comes with not being rigid like she should be. She has a nagging feeling that Gon would understand better than anyone. Call it kinship, or call it intuition.  
“Well—” Gon waits for Canary to continue speaking. “It’s more worth your time to know them personally. Namely, Master Killua.”  
“Killua?” Gon tilts his head curiously, and his ears twitch at the unfamiliar name. “Who’s that?”  
Canary unconsciously gives a fond, small smile at the thought of Master Killua. Out of all the Zoldycks, he had been the only one who seemed to care about her presence as a Zoldyck butler. Years ago, she remembers he asked her to be his friend. If their lives were different, maybe they could’ve been friends. Canary likes to imagine about those “what ifs.”   
“One of the sons of Silva, the head of the family,” Canary says, and her eyes tell Gon just how much deeper the connection between the two is. “He’s also hardened by the Zoldyck’s cruel methods of torture, but—“  
“Torture?” Gon cuts her off. He’s concerned: even for someone he has never met. Canary feels warmed by Gon’s genuine worry. She too is worried about Killua, and all the horrible things he’s put through.   
“Yes.” Canary’s face becomes grim, with harsh lines from clenching her jaw. “The Zoldycks mistreat their children from a young age, to influence them to develop into killing machines.” It sounds even more horrible when it’s said aloud: she can tell by the way Gon’s face darkens. “It can include physical abuse, running them ragged to bring them to implausible stamina in combat… and all the emotional trauma that comes with that.”  
“How can people be so cruel?” Gon looks down, and draws into himself, his heart lurching for Killua, this boy he doesn’t even know.  
Canary’s lip quivers. “I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself that for years.”  
They’re quiet for a moment, and then Gon says: “I’m sorry you have to watch that.”  
Canary hasn’t cried for years, but for some reason, that makes her want to start.   
“It’s my job. It’s not like I can go anywhere else, but it’s worth it when you see Killua fighting back in his own way.”  
Gon must have shifted because his chains rattle. “He sounds like someone I’d like to be friends with.”  
Canary blinks then feels the same emotion well up in herself. Killua really is an interesting person, and even though he’s damaged, he’s got a depth to him that just screams that he’d be a great friend.  
“He has a deep desire to make friends that can’t be changed— even if his older brother, Illumi— tries to brainwash him into thinking otherwise. I’ve seen it firsthand.”  
Gon looks at Canary with a flicker of hope in his face. “Well, that’s good.” After a second, he adds:  
“They don’t sound like a very nice family.” Gon makes a sad face down at the tips of his boots. Canary can’t help but laugh a little.   
“No, not really.”  
A second later, their conversation is interrupted by someone opening the door to their quarters. Meleoron’s head pokes out from behind it, a food tray balancing on his odd number of fingers. Still, Gon continues to think about what Canary told him about Killua: it takes him a moment to derail his train of thought. As Meleoron approaches, Gon sees what he thinks to be applesauce and pudding with him. He has a beaming smile on his face, probably because he had a good, long cigarette break.  
“Dinner’s ready— sorry it took so long, I know the time passes like molasses in here.” He sets the tray on the cold, stone ground, an equal ways away from Gon and Canary. For Gon, the time has been passing fine, as Canary has occupied him with tellings of the mysterious Zoldyck family.   
Then again, if Canary wasn’t here, or he was with someone who didn’t get along with him— well, that would be different. Meleoron sits down.   
“That’s been mostly true,” Canary says, and Gon feels a little surprised. Is he boring or something? After a moment, she speaks again. “But since Gon’s showed up, time seems like it’s working again.” There’s a warm expression on her face, and Gon returns it, grateful that it turns out he isn’t a bore.  
“Hmm…” Meleoron picks up a spoon and the cup of— yep, applesauce— and peels back the seal on it. “Gon does have that way about him, from what I’ve seen.” He scoops out a bite and gestures it to Gon’s lips. Oh, right, his arms are restrained. You would think he would remember since his shoulders have gone numb. He leans forward and strains against the shackles to take the bite. It feels immediately strange to be fed by someone else.   
“Ahahah, I dunno,” says Gon, bashful at the compliment. “I just talk to people like everyone else; I dunno how that would make me especially good at passing time.”  
“It’s the friendliness you exude that makes the difference,” Canary says as she watches Gon take another bite from Meleoron. “Somehow time just speeds up because of that, I guess.”  
Quickly, the meager container of applesauce is gone, and gosh, is Gon still hungry. It didn’t taste as good as Mito’s apple crisp, but it was still enjoyable. His stomach gives a whine, and either no one heard it, or everyone chose to ignore it. Oh yeah— this is gonna be a long time to be hungry while they wait for the full moon. He was told in advance that he would be hungry, but it feels worse going through it compared to just saying “okay” and accepting it.  
Meleoron has moved on the feeding Canary a pudding cup. She must be a lot hungrier than I am, Gon thinks, who knows how many days she’s been here. She seems to be feigning showing her hunger by eating more slowly. To be a Zoldyck butler, he has to imagine she’s no pushover; she has good mental strength over what she’s dealing with. She must have had seasoned people around her, ones that too knew about werewolves and how she should handle her first transformation.   
Their lives seem so different.  
There is a “drip, drip, drip” coming from a random spot on the stone ceiling, and that sound helps him zone out. His thoughts wander. He barely notices when Meleoron takes his leave and snuffs most of the lanterns on the walls, enough so you’re barely able to see. However, he doesn’t feel tired yet. For some reason, his thoughts are on Killua, Canary, and what type of life they live in. He wonders how Killua would take his coffee, if at all. If Kon would like Canary (since Kon likes females better, he assumes he would) and if sometime in the future they would come to the coffeehouse. Gon hasn’t had friends, at all, other than the regulars that pop in for their daily coffee, and to others, those probably wouldn’t even be considered friends, since they have no emotional closeness. At that thought, an ache unearths in his chest he never realized was there before.   
“Hey Canary? Would you and Killua like to be my friends?” Canary turns to him in the dark, a shifting sound that reminds Gon of how leaves of big, sturdy trees would sound in the wind.   
“Neither of us have really had friends. But between you and me, no one needs them more than Killua.” She pauses. “Or me, for that matter.”  
Gon silently tells himself they are now friends, and he’s somehow excited enough that it takes him half the night to fall asleep next to her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with the new chapter I promised. Hope you all enjoy! I'll update with a new chapter ASAP! All reviews and kudos are highly appreciated.
> 
> -Killugonwriter

A rat scurries across the cold, stone floor, nose-down, assumedly looking for food. The hole in Gon’s stomach deepens. He isn’t going to find anything, no matter how much he searches. As expected, the rat becomes discouraged and disappears through a gap in the rock wall. At least watching the rat kept Gon occupied. Canary is still asleep, her kinky hair in her face, disheveled. The hollows in her cheeks seem more severe. Dinnertime was still far away. Every cell in Gon was at its breaking point, he felt too weak to move, but confusingly, it felt like his blood was stirring. His skin was purplish from poor circulation and weakness. Gon began to wonder how many days had passed, but it was impossible to know underground.  
“Canary?” His words echo off the walls of their chamber. “Do you know how many days it’s been?”  
The muscles in her neck strain to lift her head. Her eyes are bleary, like when you drop cooking oil into water. “No idea.” The words fall out of her slackened jaw. “at least we’re closer to being released.”  
“It must be soon,” Gon says, desperately. “you’ve been here longer than I have.”  
Canary tries to look like she doesn’t feel bothered, but Gon could tell that in a short time, she would snap.  
The next few days have been hellish, but not in the sense that he is miserable because Canary is good company. It’s just he’s so hungry, and these shackles should’ve ripped his arms right out of their sockets by now. They’ve become numb flesh, and not being able to move awakens a restless jitter in him. Sometimes, when they’re not talking, Canary is quiet, her breathing shallow as if under stress. Because of this, Gon realizes Canary and him are similar in a way— neither of them likes to admit they’re struggling, and deal with it. For Gon, it’s because he’s stubborn and his pride stops him from complaining. For Canary, though, he has no idea— he doesn’t know what stops her from complaining. The most logical reason would be her skill set as a Zoldyck butler. It must’ve been drilled into her that she cannot show weakness in the face of adversity.  
Even though Canary makes it out to be that she is a Zoldyck butler and therefore unshakable, Gon can tell that by nature she has a soft personality. She’s probably great as a butler, but Gon begins to wonder why someone who has humanity and powerful empathy would end up working for a family like the Zoldycks. Wouldn’t she need to be ruthless and emotionless to protect an elite family of assassins? Regardless, Gon admires her. It’s a strength to stay true to your own personality, even when faced with violence over and over.  
Maybe Killua is responsible for that. In a way, he seems to give Canary hope, her face brightens when she talks about him. Gon finds that he strongly wants to meet Killua— and find out for himself why he seems so special. Gon may have begun to realize he has never had any friends his age, and he longs to make friends for the first time.  
Maybe it’s all in his head, but are the walls closing in? He swears they are getting closer, day by day. Meleoron comes in twice a day to give them meager canned foods— things that only make you hungrier, as they don’t fill you up at all but give you a teasing taste of something. It’s hard to bear watching Canary’s strength seep out of her hour by hour— Gon can imagine how horrible he looks. Meleoron seems sympathetic to their state, though, and once or twice smuggled an extra can of beans for them. Supposedly they’d had a surplus, anyway. Gon wonders if he has taken a liking to him and Canary.  
Quickly within the past few days, Gon’s decided Canary’s a great choice for a friend. She’s insightful and steady: qualities that balance Gon out. They talked through the days about many things: Gon’s family, the other Zoldyck butlers, and guessed on what their first transformation will be like. It helped their agonizing situation become more tolerable.  
“Do you think we are gonna lose our minds?” Gon asks. Because of his shackles, it feels like his heart is in his wrists. If he couldn’t look overhead and see his own hands, he would think they don’t exist anymore— they don’t have any feeling.  
“Usually for the first time I’ve heard, yes,” Canary replies. Canary then let her head fall, and Gon was almost scared it would pop off the tendons of her outstretched shoulders. Is it possible he and Canary were feeling the same thing: impossible weakness but something cooking his insides? He assumes as a werewolf she feels it, too.  
At some point, Gon had blacked out. When he woke up, there was nothing that showed that any time had passed. Just as his drowsiness was clearing, the reinforced door began to creak, its gears whining because it was being opened. Gon feels his stomach swell with anticipation when he sees Kite entering. His stark white hair illuminates the dark, causing the shadows on his face to deepen, making his nose and jaw look as sharp as his blade. The muscles in Gon’s arms and legs that were already shaking from exhaustion begin to quiver more violently.  
“How long has it been?” Canary asks, voice raspy.  
“Five days,” Kite said. “Change should start by late tonight. Your blood should start to burn,” Gon was already feeling his blood bubbling. “You’ll be alright as long as you’re in here. The change lasts about an hour.”  
Gon couldn’t lie to himself, he’s nervous. The first change sounded unbelievably scary. How much would he have control of himself? Did he have the ability to unknowingly harm someone?  
Kite continued. “I will be outside this reinforced door. If you somehow escape, which is highly unlikely, I will have airborne chemicals on hand which will put you in a temporary coma. You’ll live, but you might have to be quarantined again to the next full moon. You need to be conscious for the duration of the change.”  
“Are these shackles going to help us at all?” Canary looked at Kite straight in the eye. “Quite an energy coming off of these.”  
“We have connections with the highest-ranking witches in the Hunter Organization.” Kite leaned against the industrial doorframe. “So yes, the magic will sap your spike of energy and calm your violent temper. During the first change, werewolves don’t know how to control their strength and are often feral and dangerous.” Gon felt a little more assured that he would be okay after the change, they seem to take a lot precaution.  
“Kite,” Gon began inquisitively, “Why do you work underground with werewolves and argonians— you’re a reaper, aren’t you?”  
Kite paused, looking like the most daunting statue in any cemetery. Even though he was intimidating and associated with death, Gon somehow found his demeanor soothing, like lying under a waxing moon on the coffeehouse’s porch.  
“My mentor was a werewolf,” Kite slung his gangly arms over his chest, and shut his eyes— he’s summoning the memory. “He was influential in teaching me how to navigate the Hunter world— fend for myself, unearth artifacts and treasures…” Gon soaked up the information. “This business was his creation— but I took over it when he looked for endeavors elsewhere.”  
“You must’ve been close if you were willing to take over his work,” Gon said.  
“Yes,” Kite replied. “He got me to where I am today.” Gon looks satisfied with his response. Kite pauses, then adds: “Just wanted to check up you guys. Everything seems to be in order, you seem to be weaned and weak enough. Excuse me, but I must get preparations settled for tonight. Things’ll be alright.”  
And with that, as soon as Kite entered, he’s gone.  
For the next few hours, it’s silent. Gon and Canary must both be too filled with anticipation to talk much. At what Gon would guess to be around the time Meleoron would come to give them dinner, He enters, with nothing but a silver pocket watch that swings from his pocket. Gon’s veins feel like they are about to burst by now. It must be close to the change. He feels like he’s aflame. Sweat slips down his temples and forehead.  
“It’s soon,” Meleoron gives a reassuring smile. “I’ll be outside the door with Kite, ready to get you when the time is up.” He snuffs the lanterns on the walls, and the pitch darkness suffocates them. “Good luck.” The door cries shut behind him, and now they’re alone, waiting to go out of their minds.  
For some reason, the dark infuriates Gon. He can’t see anything. His breaths progressively become heavy, angry. Suddenly, his insides feel like they are expanding beyond his skin. It tears as easily as tissue paper, and Gon screams.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been on a roll with writing, so this new update came sooner than I expected! Hope you guys enjoy! All reviews and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> -Killugonwriter

He's freezing, lying naked in the middle of shreds of his clothing. As Gon wakes up, he realizes he has no memories of what just happened. His left arm is screaming at him, and when Gon squints through the dark and stars of pain, he sees a ragged divet in the flesh of his forearm— no, a giant bite mark, like a beast had gotten a hold of him for dinner but he escaped. He tries to sit up, cry out for help, do something, but he can't move or even summon his voice. He sticks his hand into the serrated flesh to staunch the bleeding, and it hurts so badly but he can't even scream. Luckily, the reinforced door begins to grind open, but as soon as the light from the other side hits his eyes, he's unconscious again.  
The second time he comes to, someone is firmly grasping his wrist, so tightly his left hand feels like TV static. A dusty yellowed lightbulb hangs overhead, bringing the fuzzy shapes of a table and what he guesses is Meleoron into focus. He thinks he has gloves on. Gon smells something like the salve Mito would put on his chest and feet when he got a cold. Yeah, Meleoron seems to have on gloves, since he's working the ointment into his arm, which burns like the fiery pits of hell. Magical s�parkles of all colors exude from the wound, and the pain begins to mellow out.   
"You gnawed your arm in your delirium," Meleoron's voice sounds like he's underwater. "This'll help, don't worry." The "don't worry" began to repeat itself over and over in his skull, and that's the point when he loses complete sense of what is going on again.   
When Gon's again aware of what is happening, it's when he wakes up in his bed at the coffee house. For some reason, his first thought is of Canary, and if she's alright. As he was out, Gon thinks he dreamt about Killua Zoldyck, the assassin his age that he wanted to meet. In his mind, though, he had merely been a shadowy figure. A lukewarm rag cools his forehead, a bead of water tickling as it falls down the side of his face. The sensation makes him feel more aware, more consciously stable than the last few times. Mito, who he just realized is here, takes the rag off him, smoothing back the damp hair by his hairline.   
"Hi, sleepyhead." Mito dips the rag into a nearby basin, then wrings out the excess water. "How do you feel?" Gon groans and slurs out indiscernible words. "Meleoron returned you at dawn. You were completely out of it, overheated and still in a bit of pain. Since then you've been sleeping, and I've come up every half hour to redip your rag."  
Gon nods weakly, and Mito returns the rag to his forehead. It's much cooler this time, and Gon sighs in relief. "You're off of work. Your body still needs a few hours to cool down," she eyes him worriedly. Even when Gon's not delirious, he insists on helping with the shop, so she makes it very clear he's not going anywhere. "You're weak, and your arm is still healing." Gon suddenly notices the gauze pinching his forearm. When was that wrapped? He can't remember. It's only a mild throb now. "Unfortunately, the semester starts tomorrow, so you need to rest up."  
Gon's head shoots up, almost cracking itself on the low ceiling above his bed, but thankfully Mito restrains him. "School? I was down there that long?"   
"Yes," Mito says, the flash of their orange cat entering the room catching her eye. "Unfortunately. We were all worried out of our minds. Even Kon." Mito picks up the cat that had begun to rub against her shins. "This guy had been yowling at night ever since you've been gone." Kon's pupils shrink to slits when he sees Gon.   
"Mreoww!"  
Gon realizes how much he missed home. Weakly, Gon raises his good arm and pets Kon on the top of the head. He begins to purr, and Mito sets him down on Gon's blanket-covered lap. "Meleoron said you should get rest, good food, and plenty of fluids. Once your body catches up with you, you'll be good as new." Kon begins to knead biscuits on top of Gon's thighs, gold eyes squinted shut in bliss. "Dungeon training starts pretty early, so you'll need your strength." Mito's tone and the ruffle in her wings tell Gon that she feels apprehensive about it. He knows she's scared of him becoming a hunter, but most of all she doesn't want to see him hurt.  
"Don't worry, Aunt Mito," Gon says and cracks a weak smile, "I have Ging's blood, after all." Gon doesn't realize that it does little to soothe her.  
"Can I take a shower?" Gon asks. The buildup of grime and sweat and dried blood is starting to get to him.   
"Sure," Mito stands up from her stool. "Do you need help?"  
"No, I think I'm okay." Gon shifts Kon off his lap and onto the spare comforter with an apology. Mito removes the rag from his forehead, and Gon takes his time swinging his legs to dangle over the side of his bed. He's extremely weak, but he thinks he's okay to stand. Slowly, he brings himself to his feet. Gon's a little wobbly and Mito steadies him.  
"You sure? I can run a bath for you," Mito offers, but Gon refuses.  
"Thanks, Mito, but I just need to do something on my own right now."  
Mito smiles warmly in understanding and realizes her grip. The past few days have been hard for him.  
"As soon as you're done, get your butt back in the bed," Mito says sternly but with mirth in her voice. She really missed him. "I'll send Melody up with some of our soup of the day." She kisses Gon on the cheek and leaves, shutting the door behind her.  
Gon sighs. He feels like shit but puts one shaky foot in front of the other and heads towards his bathroom. Kon doesn't want the blanket, he wants Gon, so he jumps off the bed with a thump. Gon shuts the door behind him, and Kon lets out a mewl of protest. Grumbling, Gon lets the cat inside before promptly shutting it again. Kon is very cute, but his energy is so limited that opening the door again feels like a chore. He curls up on the tile and lifts one leg, beginning to clean the soft fur on his stomach. Gon looks in the mirror, and almost falls backward. Gon didn't recognize himself for a second.  
He looks so malnourished and exhausted. His pinkish skin looks like a vacuum-sealed bag over his bones, and his dark circles look more prominent on his sunken, dirt-caked face. Gon's skin is only clean on his forehead, where Mito put the wet rag to cool him off. There are more intense flecks of gold in Gon's eyes than he remembers. Frowning, Gon pulls back the shower curtain and turns the knob to a warm setting to get the water heating up. With some effort, he sheds his shirt, the gauze on his forearm making it difficult to get his arm out of the shirt's armhole. In his frustration with the garment, he tosses the shirt aside, and it falls onto Kon, making him struggle to get out from underneath it. Gon laughs, his mood a little lighter.  
"Sorry." He sticks out his tongue when he sees the fur on Kon's back is disturbed and ruffled, his ears back. Well, he was grooming himself, anyways. Gon shucks his pants and boxers, and curiously examines his wrapped arm. He should probably take off the gauze then have it rewrapped after, right? Gon braces himself for the probably ugly sight and loosens the bandaging. His mouth falls slack. There is no bite in his arm— only the raw pink of new skin. He clearly remembers his flesh being chewed up like a drumstick at a barbeque, but he can't complain. What was that medicine Meleoron used on him?  
Gon steps into the shower, the water is still slightly cold. A shiver runs up his back, but he stays in any way, the cool water feeling great on his hot skin. Grabbing the halfway-gone bar of Mito's homemade soap, and gets to work scrubbing himself, and watches the dirt and blood wash down the drain. When he steps out onto the bath mat, he feels a lot better than he thought he would. He wraps a towel around his waist and leaves the bathroom, Kon on his heels.   
After drying himself off and dressing in something comfortable, Gon lies back down in bed, where Kon joins him. He pets the cat's soft fur for a while, mind blank. He doesn't feel like himself, not just because he's weak— it feels like a new power is pulsing in him, and Gon finds he doesn't know what to make of it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm here with another chapter for you guys. I'm rearing to write the next one, so keep your eyes peeled for another update. Hope you enjoy!  
All reviews and kudos are highly appreciated.  
-Killugonwriter

When Gon heads down the stairs later that afternoon, he imagines his knees buckling under him similar to how a fishing line snaps beneath the weight of a big catch. If he tumbles downwards, he can imagine the hardwood stairs would be unforgiving on his already battered body. The muscles around his knees and in his calves tremble more at the thought. He’s afraid of impediments and more pain. Gon doesn’t know his strength will steady again, but his goal is for his recovery to be soon. Even though he’s impatient, he takes the stairs one step at a time.  
How much longer will this weakness last? Gon thinks to himself. Will me being weak get in the way of the next few days of classes? He sure hopes not. A few moments ago, he finally refused to stay in bed and wallow in his feelings of sickness any longer. Yet, moving around is, unfortunately, discouraging him as he realizes how weak he is.   
He’s excited but nervous about what kind of courses he will be faced with in his first year at Hunter Academy. Gon assumes they will be tough and push his limits. Hopefully, he’ll have enough time to recover as school starts up before the demand gets too high. From what he knows about himself, Gon will not hesitate to push himself to the brink. Since his biggest dream is to become a hunter, he will go to whatever lengths to achieve it. A few shaky limbs and sore muscles won’t stop him from pushing the limits. Because of this recklessness, Gon is bound to do something stupid— like hurt himself further.   
The voices of customers in the coffeehouse get louder as he descends the stairs. They are painful to Gon. He didn’t expect that he would be affected this much by noise. The chatter reverberates in Gon’s ear canal as voices do in a huge cathedral. They’re not sinister, they’re friendly, and inviting— but to Gon, it feels like the sound is swinging a pickaxe at the side of his skull. Some miner is greedily digging for gold in the sides of Gon’s forehead. He has the urge to press his palms to his ears, but that would seem overreactive and silly.  
He makes it to the bottom of the staircase without injury, but the empty bowl that he’d been holding is trying to slip out of his fingertips and crash to the floor. It doesn’t help that he almost trips on Kon, who weaves between his ankles affectionately. He’d finished the beef stew and was going to put it in the sink since he is coming downstairs anyway. It had tasted even better than he thought it would after being weaned on canned food. Might as well not make more work for Mito and bring the bowl down himself.   
Melody is wiping down the counter when Gon appears in the kitchen. “Gon!” Melody grins and puts down the sponge she had been using. She meets him halfway on his path to the sink. “It’s so good to see you,” Melody says, throwing her arms around his middle, but carefully, as she’s noticed the gauntness in his face and the weakness in his usually strong frame. “Me and Mito were so worried about you.”  
“Things were fine, Melody.” Gon balances the soup bowl on top of the pile of other dirty dishes in the sink. “I’m weak, but I got through it. It was a good thing I went with Meleoron. It would have been dangerous otherwise.”  
Melody nods. “I heard from the gentleman who came by to check in on you. I was just about to go upstairs and tell you he’d come by.”  
“Who?”  
“A man named Kite. Tall, long white hair. I assume you know him.”  
Gon offers a small smile. “Yes. He’s the leader of the organization that helped me out the last few nights.” Melody’s eyes widen, but she nods nevertheless. He did look like someone important. “He’s a good man. Where is he?”  
Melody rests her hand on the center counter, leaning her body weight into it. “He’s been waiting on the back porch,” Melody answers, voice gentle. “Said something about wanting to enjoy the fresh air.”  
“Thanks.” Gon heads towards the door. Of course, Kite would want to spend time outside— he cringes at the thought of the stuffy, sewer air, laden with a stench so heavy it still feels like it’s still stuck in Gon’s lungs. He has no idea how Kite deals with being underground for such long periods. “I’m going to go see him.”  
Melody watches Gon head towards the back, sliding door. Her gaze lingers on his weakened posture— the heaviness making his shoulders roll forward, and the way his neck barely supports the weight of his head. She knows he’s been through hell but is trying to thwart his own reactions to the rough time he’s had: all to not worry her and Mito. Melody’s face softens. He’s a good kid— but that won’t stop either of them from worrying about him.  
On the porch, Kite’s leaned up against the scaffolding of the coffeehouse, a to-go cup of black coffee in his hand. He’s so lanky that his form looks like an immature sapling. Perhaps he had blown out of the ground and against the side of the building during a windstorm. He doesn’t react when Gon comes out of the back door, so maybe he hasn’t realized Gon’s presence.   
Kite begins, “I came to get a good cup of coffee. Meleoron told me about the place.” He takes a sip, hat shadowing his sharp features. “The coffee we keep stored gets a horrible, musky taste after a while.”  
The reaper doesn’t say it, but he didn’t only come for the coffee brew— the young werewolf intrigues him and reminds him of his old mentor, Ging. Is it possible this is the son Ging had tried to keep the existence of under wraps? Even if Gon isn’t Ging’s son, the werewolf seems to have some great potential, and it has caught Kite’s interest. The raw power coming from Gon during the change had been overwhelming, even from where Kite was standing outside his unit.   
“Glad you could get a break from muddy coffee,” Gon says back. He sits down on the edge of the back porch, where the wood meets the soil of the backyard. Clenching his fingers together, Gon looks at Kite with curious, brown eyes, waiting for him to speak further.  
Kite fills the silence. “Thought it was a good idea to check up on you. You gnawed your arm during the change pretty bad. It doesn’t usually happen, but your influx of power from the moon was quite something.” Kite swats a beetle away that lands on his left sleeve.   
“It’s basically healed already. Whatever Meleoron put on it helped.” There’s a twitch in Kite’s eyebrows. “Just pink now.”  
“Hmmm… quite the regenerative ability, too…” Kite takes a thoughtful swallow from his cup. “Seems like you’ve got some promise.” At that statement, Kite’s lips stretch. He heads towards the back door, seemingly about to leave. “I’m looking forward to having you in astronomy.” Gon shoots up to ask questions, but he’s already left by the time he turns around. Gon doesn’t stop him and lets him leave. He'll see him soon.  
Kite’s the astronomy teacher? Gon’s body vibrates, excited that he’s going to get to see him more and learn from him. He must have a lot of knowledge, just by having been in the world for so long. When back in the underground Kite had mentioned mapping stars and predicting the locations of dungeons, Gon admits he was intrigued. Is that a topic in his classes? Or is it a piece of information he keeps to himself? How much importance do the stars hold?  
Gon had been zoning out. When he comes back down to earth, he realizes he had been blankly staring at one of the leafy vines of their tomato plants. The chickens are lingering between the plants, pecking at any bugs that have become to emerge with the afternoon coolness. He must be more excited for school than he realizes to zone out in intrigue like that. Or, he may be overtired. One of their golden-feathered chickens finds a particularly juicy worm from between the tilled rows. He gobbles it up even though the worm squirms to free itself. Glad to see the chickens are eating well— Gon had underestimated how painful it was to have too little food.  
Again, his thoughts wander to Canary. Has she eaten something substantial by now, or is she being forced into waiting it out because of the demands of being a butler? Would the Zoldycks be that cruel, or would they be more understanding of her situation than he is giving them credit for? Gon barely registers the sun beginning to sink. Wait, Canary did look around Gon’s age. Is it possible she will be attending school with him? That would make Gon happy, as he would have someone he knows right at the beginning of the school year. Suddenly, a soft, orange forehead is nudging at his knuckles. Gon smiles and smooths back Kon’s fur. It’s sun-warmed, he must’ve been sunbathing on his favorite windowsill before joining him outside.  
He pets Kon in silence, and they watch the sunset together as the fireflies gradually begin to come out. If Canary comes to Hunter Academy, it might also be feasible that Killua would be enrolled too. Gon’s heart swells in excitement. Since Canary’s told Gon about him, he’s been itching to meet the assassin with the soft heart. At some point, as he sometimes does, Kon heads towards the chicken coop to sleep. Him moving away is what makes Gon realize how late it has become. His body must be more tired than he was aware of because he also has the desire to go to bed. Not to mention that it will make tomorrow come quicker. When he heads back up to his room, the coffee house has long since closed and lies dark.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this chapter took a while to go up! There have been a lot of tough things going on in my personal life that made my motivation to get this chapter published basically non-existent. Well, anyway, I did it, and I hope you guys enjoy!  
-Killugonwriter

Gon is woken up at an unknown hour by a gunshot. He doesn’t know what sort of instinct takes over, but he rolls off his bed and onto the floor. The instinct is so sudden— in a past life, maybe he’d been drafted into some sort of war and has dealt with bullets whizzing over his head. Part of his comforter slides down with him. Gon thinks he heard the window shatter at the same time as the shot. He grips the fabric like it’s his lifeline, his fingernails dig in like he never plans to unstick himself. The sudden wake-up makes the rush of adrenaline more lethal, he’s shuddering uncontrollably.  
Lying flush to the floor, his heart is beating so hard his whole chest convulses away from the wood. Fear-laden breaths fog up the wax Mito had put on the floorboards sometime last week. Even though he knows it’s supposed to be dark, his eyes are wide open: it doesn’t make a difference. He peers under the frame of his bed. From beyond the jagged-glass frame of his window, whirring red, blue, and white lights are the only source of light his eyes can pick up— police cruisers. Glass shards glint back at him from where they happened to land on the floor.  
After a few more shuddery breaths, more shots of a gun pop off, but it sounds farther away this time. He waits until there is another lull. Then, he psyches himself up to bear-crawl, staying lower than the bottom sill of his broken window. His mind is blank but racing at the same time, mentally, he’s in the middle of a battlefield trench. Gon imagines there is barbed wire inches above his scalp, stopping him from being visible above a certain point. He’s careful to keep an eye on the reflections dancing on the grass shards to not cup open undersides of his fingertips.  
Suddenly, something cylindrical and hard rolls beneath his palm and he freezes, startled. It’s the bullet that came through his window. He holds it close to his face, looking at the malicious glint of silver. Oddly, it’s steaming, the heat radiating off into the dark room. The hostile energy it possesses chills him. Gon’s so unsettled by the bullet that he stuffs it into his pants pocket for later before he gets overwhelmed and drops it back to the floor. When the police hopefully reprimand the shooter and check the scene, it will serve as great evidence. Making it to the wall without harm, he brings himself up onto his haunches and peeks through the broken window. A few blurred shadows scatter away from the revealing light of the streetlights. His heartbeat is in his throat, he’s hyperventilating.  
Gon ends up in a corner of his room without any vantage point from either of his two windows to keep himself out of firing range. He’s stuck himself flesh to the wallpaper like a bug. A moment later, Mito bursts into the room, nightclothes in disarray. Her sleep mask is dangling half off her face.  
“Gon!” Mito falls next to Gon on the floor, cradling his head in a hug. “Are you alright?” Kon scurries out of the ajar door, bristled up and startled. Gon had completely forgotten about Kon in the mayhem, the poor kitty. Melody, who was also woken by the assault, sees the glass scattered on the floor from behind Mito and rushes away, assumedly for a dustpan and broom to sweep it up.  
“I-I think so,” Gon stutters, clutching at Mito’s pajama shirt tighter than he intends to. “A bullet came through my window.” He doesn’t know why he says that, because it’s obvious both Mito and Melody had noticed already. Worry has blown open their expressions. Gon’s eyes water up, but no tears fall. Breaths squeeze out of Gon’s cheeks louder and faster than he means to.  
“Shhh…” Mito soothes him by rubbing circles onto his back. Her angel wings encircle him like she does when he’s overwhelmed. She started the habit when he was younger and wouldn’t stop throwing a tantrum over something dumb. Like that one time when he was three and Mito told him he couldn’t eat his cereal with a fork. Mito calming him like this always does the trick to help his racing thoughts slow.  
Melody appears a few seconds after, clutching the old, straw-bent broom from their upstairs closet and a dustpan he didn’t even know they had. Her eyes tremble at the sight of the scared Gon, clinging to his aunt like he used to do as a small child, now taller than her and strong enough to pull out root vegetables from the garden by himself.  
Gon lifts his face from where he was nuzzled on her collarbone. “Mito, I’m still going to school tomorrow.” Mito scoffs at the statement.  
“Gon, why are you even thinking about school after you’d just been misfired at?”  
Gon laughs, but it sounds half-stuck in his throat. “I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to it.”  
Melody gets to work sweeping up the glass, and it clinks as it’s gathered into the dustpan. The gunshots have stopped, but Gon half expects more to come, so he stays cuddled into Mito’s arms.  
“Never has something like this happened since I’ve lived in this part of the city,” Mito says, smoothing back the wild spikes of Gon’s hair.  
“Not to me either,” Melody responds, voice shrunken and tiny. “Wonder what brought those troubled souls to this part of the block.”  
“Maybe they robbed one of the shops in the market? It’s easy for them to fire from one street over and for it to find its way into my window,” Gon wonders aloud.  
Melody pushes as much glass as the dustpan can carry over the lip. “It’s possible.” She dumps it in the wastebasket next to Gon’s dresser for the time being. “Hopefully no one was hurt. I have a close relationship with the owner for the wand shop.” Melody pauses then adds, “she’s a sweet girl. A little spoiled and childish, but she wouldn’t deserve something like that. Hopefully, she wasn’t targeted for her skills.”  
There’s a knock that they barely hear from the front door downstairs.  
“It must be the police,” Mito pulls away fom Gon, soothing him by swiping her thumb over his cheek.  
“Just ask who’s at the door before you open it,” Melody advises her. “Could be anyone.”  
Mito nods and stands, straightening her pajamas, as though she must worry about being presentable for police after a shooting. Gon listens to Mito’s footsteps get father away, descending the stairs.  
“Who is it?” Mito asks, standing to the side of the front door, just in case who is behind the door is armed and hostile.  
“Yorknew police,” The voice responds. “Here in response to the shooting on the corner of West 43rd Street and 7th Avenue.”  
Mito believes him but is still careful. “Slide your badge under the door.”  
He complies, and Mito picks up and examines the I.D. It looks legitimate. On it is a picture of a tan man with medium-length silvery hair, and pince-nez sunglasses over a large nose. The name on the I.D. reads: “Morel Mackernasey.”  
“I’ll let you in.” Mito undoes the locks on the door and opens it. On the other side of the door, the hulking man waves to her in greeting, almost casually, but what surprises her more is the gigantic tobacco pipe he has hiked over his shoulders.  
Morel notices her eyeing his pipe. “Yeah, I know, this thing usually throws people for a loop. I’m a Kapre. Ya’ know, we’re known to smoke, are tree giants, any of this ringing a bell?” Mito gives him a funny look. “Probably not, it’s a rare mutation.”  
“I have no idea where this is going.”  
He coughs awkwardly into his fist. “Sorry. Mrs…?”  
“Freecs. Mito Freecs.”  
“Morel Mackernasey, chief of police. Sorry for the disturbances that happened tonight. Is everyone in your household alright?”  
“Yes,” Mito responds, frowning. “However, a stray bullet did come through my son’s window.” Morel’s eyebrows twitch upwards.  
“I’ll make sure to file a report to guarantee your window is repaired. If you would be so kind, can I see the crime scene?” Mito agrees, gesturing for him to come inside. She trails behind Morel as he ascends the stairs.  
When Gon sees the chief of police enter his bedroom, he’s immediately intimidated by his hulking frame and uncharacteristic pipe. He can’t, for the life of him, put a finger on what kind of creature Morel might be.  
“Hello, sir,” says Melody, who continues to sweep up the glass. “Anything I can help you with?”  
Morel smiles at her. “Just investigating the scene, in hope of finding some clues that could benefit our investigation.” He looks in Gon’s direction. “Either of you find something out of the ordinary, besides the shattered window?” He walks over to the windowsill, staring at the jagged leftover glass still attached to the frame. Morel traces his large, gorilla-like hands over the sharp edges. There seems to have been some abnormal impact behind that bullet.  
“I found this,” Gon says, fishing the bullet from his shorts pocket. Morel looks at Gon curiously.  
“Let me see that.” Gon offers the bullet to him. The bullet is still barely steaming somehow. The corners of Morel’s mouth turn downwards. “Thank you for this evidence. Might help us figure out the abilities of the criminals.”  
“Um, excuse me, Officer,” Melody begins, “Did the young lady who runs the Illuminations wand shop get hurt? She’s a friend of mine.”  
“Young Neon was the one who was targeted by these criminals, unfortunately.” Melody covers her mouth with her hands. “We still don’t know a motive besides they wanted a fortune told. Luckily, no one has been hurt, but we intend to return the goods they had stolen from The Unicorn Horn. We are in touch with Komugi to make sure we account for every last good that was taken from her.” Concern mars Melody’s face. “As soon as possible, our station will submit a request to have your damages repaired.”  
Morel doesn’t stick around much after that— he seems to have much to investigate. He puts the bullet into a plastic sandwich bag for later examination and leaves without revealing any more details.


End file.
